Harry Potter and the Deus Ex Machina
by Karmic Acumen
Summary: It was a normal day, until newly turned 8 year-old Harry Potter decided to make a wish upon the dog star (even though he'd almost never actually seen it) and set off something in the Unlabeled Room in the Department of Mysteries. Turns out Dumbledore was wrong. Again. It wasn't love that the Unspeakables were studying down there.
1. Preface

**Preface**

"-. .-"

So I was going to bed one night, not long after I finished chapter 68 of my other story, and the idea for an absolutely batshit insane Harry Potter fanfic, of all things, wormed its way into my head and just would not let me sleep. It's even worse than my Dragon Age / Warhammer 40000 crossover mind egg, which is saying something.

So I figured I may as well carry out a bit of catharsis and write down what came to me, and the result was the start of a story in which I will attempt to somehow use a bloody deus ex machina to make a narrative more interesting rather than silly.

And why not, I'll explore the idea of divine intervention too while I am at it.

So what will be part of this mess?

-Characters? Lots. Some you won't expect, some you definitely will.

-Time travel-done by none of the actual characters, bizarrely enough (not counting Time Turners).

-Heavy handed "forced salvation". None... I hope.

-A deliberately slow-going beginning (as in, the first 10 paragraphs or so).

-A huge mix between different esoteric concepts and JK Rowling's magic.

-Politics

-Lawsuits

-A proactive and rather bold approach to dealing with Voldemort and wizarding bigotry.

Well, that's all I've got for now. This story will be even more of an experiment than the other one, just so you know.

Pardon my egress.

Carry on.


	2. Chapter 1: A Wish Upon the Dog Star

**Harry Potter and the Deus Ex Machina**

**Chapter 1: A Wish Upon the Dog Star**

"-. .-"

For normal 7 year-old children, life is usually defined by sleeping, eating, playing with friends and/or family and the occasional rule breaking (with or without intention behind the act) and a parental scolding afterwards.

For normal 7 year-old children that achieve that age before the end of summer, life is usually defined by sleeping, eating, playing with friends and/or family and the occasional rule breaking (with or without intention behind the act) and a scolding afterwards, plus several hours a day of school.

One 7 year-old resident from a certain London suburb was anything but normal. And not because he was a wizard. Indeed, the child had no idea that was what he was. He had no idea he had magic, or that magic even existed. The closest he'd ever come to even considering that outlandish notion, and it was far off the mark indeed, was a couple of years back, in a rainy spring day of 1986 when he'd been forced to stay inside because the downpour was too strong and he couldn't go out in the back yard and till the garden soil in preparation of planting aunt Petunia's flowers.

It was the first and last time the boy had made the mistake of speaking out loud about a dream he'd had, about a man with mischievous but kind eyes who could turn into a big black dog and would take him for a ride on a motorcycle that could fly through the clouds.

He'd been rapped by Aunt Petunia on the wrists with Dudley's ruler for speaking foolishness. He'd been treated to a long and loud lecture about how "none of that freakishness is real" by a purple-faced Uncle Vernon. Then he was hauled by the scruff of his oversized jumped and tossed into his cupboard where he stayed for two days without any food. All things considered, it was a mild reaction compared to the time when Dudley's hair suddenly turned green for some reason after punching him in the park (and which the boy living in the cupboard under the stairs had been blamed for).

Indeed, the small, thin black-haired boy living with his aunt, uncle and cousin at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, was abnormal for reasons almost completely unrelated to his being a wizard. That is to say, they were related only insofar as the hostility of his relatives was owed to their hatred of anything out of the ordinary, which they chose to never enlighten the poor boy about.

Unlike other children from mildly well-off families, the boy had no clothes that actually fit, only hand-me-downs originally belonging to his cousin, Dudley Dursely. The boy did not really resent that. His misgivings stemmed from the fact that his cousin resembled a miniature whale more than he did a human, which was why the clothes were baggy on the younger, black-haired boy... to say the absolute least.

Another reason why the boy could not possibly be considered normal was that his cousin constantly bullied him, chasing him with his gang of local boys in tow and beating him up on the rare occasions when they actually cornered him. True, bullying wasn't and isn't exactly uncommon. Parental endorsement, on the other hand, is, though the black-haired boy had no way of knowing that.

The infant wizard didn't look it, but he was actually quite fast on his feet, and good at dodging and jumping over obstacles. He'd even learned of something called parkour during a commercial break while Dudley was watching one of his favorite TV shows, and thought it was something he might enjoy doing when he was older. The boy did not actually see anything, since the TV was in the living room and impossible to see through the small crack of the door to the cupboard in the hallway.

He'd heard though. Harry had very good hearing. He'd learned to listen to his relatives' footsteps and now woke up at the lowest creak of the stairs. Simply because he preferred it over being scared awake by aunt Petunia sharply banging on his door at 6 in the morning to get him started on breakfast and the rest of his chores.

Then there was his reputation. The neighbors had been warned not to have anything to do with him, since he always got up to mischief and vandalism whenever people turned his back on him. Once, the boy tried to defend himself and (rightfully) blame Dudley and his gang. His cheek burned for an hour because of uncle Vernon's backhand, and it ever went slightly blue, so his relatives locked him in the cupboard until he healed, so that no one would see it.

The latest person to frown when hearing his relatives talk about him was a nice-looking man with long black hair, black eyes and the best-looking goatee Harry had ever seen. He was visiting the neighborhood and its inhabitants because he was thinking of buying a property in the area and wanted to see what the community was like, and if he had the right idea about how to decorate the interior. Harry rather thought it strange that his aunt and uncle spoke ill of him so blatantly (after the man broached the issue of him since Vernon and Petunia seemed to pretend Harry didn't, in fact, exist), but didn't even notice when the stranger started snooping around their home.

It happened several times. Harry once came in from weeding the garden, to get some water or the like, and came upon the man looking around the house. Once he could even have been said to be snooping around the stairs, looking strangely at the cupboard door, but the man noticed him, smiled, said something pleasant and went back outside to listen to Aunt Petunia gush over Dudley (who was at the park, terrorizing poor children) in a loud enough voice that the whole street could hear.

Once Harry even caught the man watching him through the window, actually looking at him through some sort of object that he quickly moved out of sight. It was a bit creepy really. He thought of raising the issue with his aunt and uncle, but he couldn't scrounge up enough energy to care about the problem, especially when there was a very high chance of getting yelled at for telling lies. And getting locked in the cupboard without food like last time.

It wasn't _that_ bad, truth be told. At least he was excused from chores while he was locked up, and he only had to contend with boredom since there wasn't much to do in the tiny cupboard. He couldn't play during the day with the small damaged action figures he'd "rescued" from Dudley's trash pile, since he wasn't allowed to make any noise, especially while neighbors were visiting. He also didn't have any books to read, not that the thought crossed his mind that often before school. So he mostly lay on the tattered mattress and stared at the dusty boards above, having whispered conversations with the two spiders and imagining himself as a baby in a cosy home, with pots and pans that could cook on their own. A feeling of warmth and a lullaby whose lyrics he could never seem to grasp.

But the biggest reason why the boy couldn't possibly be considered normal, even bigger that living in the tiny cupboard under the stairs, was what happened on the first day of school. He'd been enrolled in the same class as Dudley, which wasn't really relevant though it was still something the boy didn't appreciate. The strange thing was when the teacher made the roll call and eventually called Harry James Potter and the boy thought it was someone else. It had been a shock to learn that was his name, and that he even had a _middle_ name on top of it.

Harry had always been called "boy" or "freak" so he didn't know what his name was. It made the first day of school awkward, made the other children wary of him. The few who considered being friendly were scared off by Dudley and his "friends" who were very quick in setting the ground rules (that Harry was off limits except to him and his goons while playing "Harry Hunting").

School life had quickly proven to be no better than home life, especially when he had his first tests and got yelled at, shook by the front of his baggy turtleneck and locked in the cupboard for cheating and beating Dudley's score (he'd gotten an A despite not having time to study much because of chores, while Dudley got a C- in spite of cheating off the person in front of him).

The routine had quickly been established: wake up early, start off breakfast, go to school, come back, work the garden, do whatever else uncle Vernon could think of (washing the car, painting the fence, cleaning up the garage, etc.) and work on homework during the little time left before he had to go to bed.

His first year of school had ended with him scraping off an overall C on his test sheets because Dudley couldn't be bothered to try for more. It left Harry feeling absolutely miserable and disappointed. He'd hoped school would be a refuge, he hoped he'd make a friend or two even...

The one good thing that he managed to gain was an acquaintance with the school librarian. He didn't get a pass. He knew better than to ask aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon to arrange for one. Besides, the whole point of going to the library was to stay there as long as possible, since it wasn't the prison known as the tiny cupboard under the stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

Since it was summer and the library stayed open even then, he could go there more often and stay longer than during the school year. His relatives seemed to want him away more than they wanted to see him home, even if he was doing chores, so they reluctantly let him be as long as they didn't get complaints about freakishness, like when he suddenly appeared on the rooftop of the school when running away from Dudley's gang (and made the school officials inform his aunt and uncle that he'd been scaling the buildings, thus enabling them to enforce his reputation as a delinquent and lock him inside the cupboard without food for two days since it was right before the weekend).

So the library was where he was now, on July 30 of 1988. He was leafing through a huge Star Atlas, drinking the incredible sights of the constellations. He'd been doing this every couple of days for a few weeks. He'd been dreaming of flying motorcycles a lot lately. The dream always had him lying on his back on something soft and seeing the night sky. It was kind of sad that it was his only memory of it, if it was even that.

He'd never been allowed outside of the house late at night for as long as he could remember. He'd only seen real stars a few times during autumn, when days were shorter. Winter, and really the rest of the year too, didn't really have very clear skies. Harry had actually researched that learned it was probably because they were close to London which made lots of air pollution.

The whole image of the sky may as well just be make-believe.

Make-believe: the action of pretending or imagining that things are better than they really are. That was the definition in the dictionary he had on the table. Harry always had one nearby when in the library.

That's what the dreams were, he knew. Whoever was in them probably didn't exist. But he still wished so hard to know who they are, just like he wished he knew more about his parents, even if they were drunks who died in a car crash.

Wish: to feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that cannot or probably will not happen. _Well_, Harry thought drily, _I can always trust the dictionary to be honest with me at least_.

"You know, green eyes, you're the only kid I've seen that actually finds the Oxford English Dictionary amusing."

Harry wasn't startled. He'd known Sandy the librarian was coming ever since he heard her walking out from behind her reception desk. She always came to exchange a few words with him half an hour into his visit. She was a blonde 20 year-old, with a heart-shaped face, brown eyes and eyebrows that almost met in the center, making her look as though she was always frowning. Somehow, though, she never made him feel uneasy in spite of that. He looked at her and gave a lopsided grin. "Amusing: A-m-u-s-i-n-g: causing laughter and providing entertainment." It was a game of theirs. She always started a talk and he spelled then quoted the meaning of whatever word seemed most interesting in whatever she said.

"You really should consider joining the spelling bee next time. You'd wipe the floor with everyone there." Sandy leaned with her hip against the table he was sitting at, looking completely at home among the tall bookshelves on both sides. She had her arms crossed in front of her rather ample bosom (not that Harry was actually paying attention to such trivial details). She held a large roll of paper in her right hand. "How's life?"

"Nothing to report," Harry said, lowering his eyes back to the Star Atlas. He was comfortable enough with her to know she wouldn't mind him multitasking.

Bellatrix, also known by its Bayer designation Gamma Orionis (γ Ori, γ Orionis). The third brightest star in the constellation Orion. A cool star, but not his favorite. If he was ever allowed out after dark, especially if he ever got a chance to look through a telescope, he knew exactly which star to look for, and it wasn't Bellatrix, though it was on his list.

"So, you'll never guess what a little bird told me," Sandy said (Sandra was her full name).

"Hmm?" Orion, sometimes subtitled The Hunter, is a prominent constellation located on the celestial equator and visible throughout the world

"It told me that my favorite squirt is turning 8 at midnight tonight."

Harry started.

He looked up sharply, almost giving himself whiplash. He _hadn't_ forgotten, but he'd never had anyone acknowledge the occasion so he forgot that it was even _possible _ for other people to learn about it, let alone care. The one exception was when his aunt and uncle gave him one of uncle Vernon's old pairs of socks, as if to reinforce the point that he wasn't worth spending money on and should be grateful they even kept him.

"You trying to catch flies with that?"

Harry's mouth clamped shut.

"Atta boy," Sandy grinned. "Here, thought I may as well get you something.

Harry didn't trust his voice. He meekly (and with no small amount of hesitation) reached out to accept that large roll of paper. It was smooth. Specially-painted like really important maps. Carefully, harry unfurled it on top of the table and gasped.

It was a map of the night sky. It had both hemispheres and showed all the important stars, and a lot of the unimportant ones. It was the closest thing to an actual view of the sky he could ever have asked for (which he wouldn't have). There was even a transparent sheet that was rolled and affixed to the edge. It could be spread over the map and added the lines connecting the stars of the various constellations together. There were the Ursa Major and Minor, Orion, the zodiacal signs...

The Canis twins...

Swallowing an unusual lump in his throat, he politely thanked the librarian. Well, that wasn't quite correct. He profusely thanked her and she eventually laughed and left him to get over his embarrassment.

By the time he got over his shock, blinked away the tears (awe mixed with gratitude), he realized it was getting late. He returned the books to their proper sections and was about to leave when he realized his conundrum.

The map was too large. Even if he rolled it up as it was, he couldn't hide it, and if his aunt and uncle saw him with it they would yell at him, accuse him of stealing, confiscate it and maybe slap him or hit him with the Smelting stick Vernon still had before locking him in his cupboard again.

With great remorse, Harry folded the special paper several times, wincing at each crease in the flawless star map, until it was small enough to hide in his baggy shirt. Dudley's oversized cast-offs were good for that much at least.

Doing his best not to panic, he made his way back to Number 4, Privet Drive.

He entered the house and called out that he was back and managed to get to his cupboard without his relatives even acknowledging him, except for aunt Petunia's sharp order to go clean up (making it sound as though he'd come from doing janitorial duties or something, instead of visiting the library). The reprieve made him regret damaging his map like that, but he reasoned it was better safe than sorry. He stuffed the map, the first real present he'd ever received, on the other side of his mattress (carefully) and immediately set about doing his chores.

By the time he turned in for the night, it was around 10 PM. He turned on the lone light bulb, shooed the two spiders to their dark corners and took out the star map. He looked up and reasoned it was just the right size to stick to what passed for a ceiling, so he did just that, using the glue his aunt had bought him (because it was on the list of school supplies so she didn't have much choice).

After several mishaps, he managed to get it to stay up on its own, so Harry Potter lied down on his mattress and stared up at the exquisite star map for hours. He tried not to notice the obvious creases from where it had been folded, and thanked the higher powers that his favorite star hadn't been cut through by them.

There, the brightest star in the night sky. Almost twice as bright as Canopus, the next brightest star. Sirius, derived from the Ancient Greek: Σείριος Seirios ("glowing" or "scorcher"). It was actually a binary star system, a white main-sequence star termed Sirius A, and a faint white dwarf companion called Sirius B. Harry had memorized the details without even trying. He'd read about the star a whole bunch of times since he discovered the fascinating world of Astronomy. He also knew the star was so bright because it was very close to Earth.

Harry wasn't exactly superstitious, but he'd learned about the habits of making wishes on a star, of making a wish on your birthday before blowing the candles on a cake, of making a wish on shooting stars on other events that actually had no effect on real life. Harry also knew that number 7 was a special number for some reason, and he mourned the fact that he'd lacked all this knowledge of wishes last year. Still, he reasoned, he could try to make a wish this year. He didn't have a cake, so he couldn't blow on any candles.

He'd, at one point, considered using stars as candles, but decided he wouldn't want to put out the stars even if he did have that power (which was impossible anyway, not to mention ridiculous to contemplate). He couldn't see the real sky, so he couldn't wish on a falling star.

He could wish on a patron star though. He didn't know if he had one, but he'd already decided to use Sirius, since it was the brightest, closest and, thus, most likely to hear him. Harry almost snorted at how downtrodden he sounded in his head. He knew he should be satisfied with what he had. He knew there were kids that had it worse than him, that it was selfish to want for more, but he was a kid himself. In a mutinous moment, a brief episode of self-entitlement, Harry decided he would just be selfish and be make a wish for himself, just this once.

Harry almost changed his mind when he realized he'd been constantly wishing for things ever since he could remember. The episode of childish selfishness (as Harry saw it) hadn't passed though, so he figured it was okay if he just wished for something he hadn't wished before. It wouldn't do to come across as nagging after all.

So yes, he would wish on the Sirius star on his birthday. But what to wish for? He'd wished for parents, but they were dead and never coming back. He'd been wishing for a long-lost relative to show up and take him away for just as long. He would keep wishing, futilely, for those things in the morning and afterwards, but not tonight.

What was left though? Harry looked at the electric clock that showed 11:55. Better decide quick then. So what should he ask for? New clothes? _Better_ clothes? That would be within reason, wouldn't it? Even for a _freak_. If his relatives wanted a normal life, surely they would realize they couldn't let him parade around dressed in those hideous castoffs? People would start _talking_.

A new room? No, that was unrealistic. Besides, they'd find and take the "stolen" star map if he had to move his things, however few they were, and that was unacceptable. Not a new room then.

New glasses? Even he knew these were no good. Not just because they were held together with tape, but because he didn't exactly see very well with them.

"I wish..." He really didn't seem to be getting any ideas that would actually guarantee any sort of positive change. He thought of wishing for just that, a positive change, but his bright intellect decided to assert itself for once and point out that he'd already had that wish fulfilled. He'd gotten his first ever birthday present!

So he thought, and thought...

And when the clock finally turned to 00:00, he decided to stop thinking about it and just say the first thing that popped into his mind. "I wish I knew what to do with my life."

Silence.

Nothing happened.

"Well, I suppose it was too much to ask for an instantaneous epiphany." Harry murmured, careful not to speak too loud in case he woke the Dursleys. He fell silent again and eventually began to hear the harsh snores of Vernon and Dudley upstairs.

Epiphany: a moment of sudden and great revelation or realization. It had been one of Harry's favorite words ever since he found it in the dictionary by accident.

"Happy birthday Harry James Potter." The name still sounded alien, because no one ever spoke it except his teachers, and himself, once every year on his birthday. "Harry James Potter..." He whispered again, turning off the light and pulling his ragged blanket over himself. He had a full day tomorrow. He was going to have to do all his chores as soon as possible because his relatives were going to have someone for dinner. A representative was coming, from a company interested in a contract with Grunnings, the company uncle Vernon worked for, which made drills.

It meant no library time tomorrow. He may as well get as much sleep as he could. "Maybe I'll dream about the dog man again tonight. Or about the big stag man and the woman with red hair waving a stick at the big deer and making Christmas lights appear all over his antlers..."

The thought suddenly wormed into his mind to paint the dog, stag and laughing lady for his next arts assignment at school.

Harry smiled in the dark as he drifted off to sleep. If wasn't an answer to the question of what to do with his life, but it was a start.

00:00 became 00:01.

"-. .-"

Few people know what happens in the Department of Mysteries, deep within the bowels of the building belonging to the British Ministry of Magic. All everyone knows is that top secret research takes place there, that those who work there are called Unspeakables, and that no one knows who each unspeakable is. Even the Unspeakables themselves seldom know each other's identities, just like each department stays out of the business of the others.

The research and experiments pertaining to each sub-department happen in large halls separate from one another. The Door Room links them all together. It is an odd contraption, where the doors always move around like roller coasters whenever someone wants to go somewhere. It is a way to ensure only Unspeakables know how to get around.

Anything and everything pertaining to magic is studied in the Department of Mysteries, from normal spells to the deepest and most secret magics. The greatest projects are shut deep within the Department, in the Brain Room, the Time Room, the Prophesy Room, the Death Room...

Yet one room has always remained the most mysterious, housing a force that wizards, in their arrogance, thought they were able to contain, to isolate to assuage their curiosity. Few can stay in that room for any length of time without being changed forever, not because of the force itself but because of its intensity. All four who went in during the past century came out, but they were not the same. One entered a permanent state of euphoria and began to see and speak of creatures that did not exist, one lost his magic, one collapsed into sobs and was admitted into St. Mungo's long-term ward, and the last one simply exited and refused to speak for the rest of his life.

No Unspeakables were bold enough to enter the room since then.

Everyone who knows of the room's existence assumes the force within is love, for what can charge the nature of a man so completely but that? What else is as deep a mystery?

The world slowed down as the clock struck midnight, and then it stopped.

As it happened, love was a partially correct answer, but only because it was the only side of that force that incarnate humans could directly interact with. The truth of that chamber was far deeper, unknowable, yet not inaccessible. Definitely not unresponsive to the call of a son of the Father, one with no karmic burden but subjected to much toil. The Universe is fair. Imbalance is fleeting. Wrongs always get compensated, in this life or the next. Regardless of what people believe, how much they wish to surrender to bouts of self pity by refusing to even consider debts left from past lives when bemoaning ill tidings, existence is not unfair even if one life out of many could be. That is _fact_.

What humankind forgot long ago was that they had the right, no, the _responsibility_ to choose how to balance their existential debt and rise above their current condition, as long as they did it.

"Karma," a voice thrummed inside the blinding light sealed inside the Unlabeled Room. "Concept found in Hinduism and Buddhism. The sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences." The Unlabeled Room did not contain love. It held an access point that tapped into the ley lines and permitted all levels of reality to cross over and be One.

"Quintessence..." The voice was becoming less impersonal now, and part of the light was separating from the sun-like mass. "The fifth substance in addition to the four elements, thought to compose the heavens and to be latent in all things. The aspect of something regarded as the intrinsic and central constituent of its character. The most perfect or typical example of a quality or class." Quintessence was existence itself. It was _all_.

The only success that the Unspeakables ever had in harnessing the power in the Unlabeled Room was the invention of the Patronus Charm. And even that was more of an arithmatic discovery inspired by the effects of proximity to the ethereal conflagration rather than some sort of release of cosmic energies. The presence of the dementor in the area had been a complete accident. The head Unspeakable had had to file a long report about why a dementor had become no more than a piece of black scorched cloth.

The sun shut in the room did not lose its potency. It was as bright, golden and all-pervading as ever, yet it did not prevent the spectre from being completely distinguishable against the backlight. An immaculately white humanoid apparition silhouetted against the ethereal glow. Seven vortices of different colors flared on his form, a vertical array before fading from sight again.

Existence was realized, and so the first prerogative of being came into play. Aknowledgment. Choice. _Decision._

"Hmmm..." Blue planet. Variable but overall mild climate. Mild inclination of the planetary axis. Sharp divide between the spiritually encumbered and the mystically aware. No difference in the level of wisdom of either group. "Muggles and wizards..." The voice was male now. Testing the words. "Normal folk and... freaks..." The apparition was short, precisely five feet tall. It might once have been a thickset warrior.

Not that anything was visible on his figure except the white outline against the golden light. Something akin to armor and a robe, or long coat fluttering against nothing. A white scarf was testing the air, like a snake.

Touching the floor at last, the man stretched as though moving after lying still for a long period of time. Then, it faced ahead. "Door: a hinged, sliding, or revolving barrier at the entrance to a building, room, or vehicle." A pause. The voice was now unmistakably male and powerful, yet not loud. "Or in the framework of a cupboard."

He fleetingly considered blasting the door and causing some mayhem. It would definitely get things moving, but he decided against it. With a thought he was on the other side of the door, walking down the hallway and banishing the gloom with the pure light of his existence. Soon he was in front of another door, then he was suddenly past it, strands of white mist dissipating in the air wherever he appeared and disappeared. He strode past a man dressed in a blue-grey cloak. He was looking at a pocket watch, and so he remained, frozen in the moment. The illusion shrouding his face like a pool of dark water.

Time only carried you forward when you existed on the same wavelength as the dimension you inhabited. The apparition strode past two more doors, turned a hallway headed straight for a dark double entrance beyond which was the first reason why the plea of anyone on this planet would resonate through the universe clearly enough to suggest that direct, proactive intervention was needed on the part of the Ascended.

A white, mystifying flare let the shady gloom descend upon the corridor again.

Here he was at last, standing in front of the abomination. The so-called Veil of Death. Had the knowledge of the Veil's creation still existed, there would have been reckoning. Willingly allowing such a thing to exist would have demanded swift judgment. "Seldom does ignorance spare lives, but this is one of those rare cases." The transparent, watery veil rippled and flickered, even frozen in the moment. A doorway to the Astral plane. The realm of emotional projections. The plane most corrupt, most disease-ridden and dark that surrounded Terra. Where all the miasma, all the misused super-planar energy gathers and infects the lives of everyone on Earth.

The reason Hell existed as a myth.

Something was seriously wrong with this planet.

Used to execute criminals. To sentence them to an even worse existence than dying and potentially reincarnating according to their outstanding debts. On a planet like this one, tossing someone in the Astral plane was like burying them alive in a pit of spiders, only they couldn't die once there.

The white specter disappeared from the Death Chamber.

"Time," the short man intoned, examining the four Unspeakables, each frozen in a different position. "The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole." The four in the Time Chamber were focused in their ritual, trying to capture the power of time in a small hourglass. "Children playing with fire." Though at least they knew well enough to wear the figurative anti-flammable suits. Their successful creation of Time Turners was worthy of note. He'd yet to see devices such as them anywhere in his "travels," especially not ones capable of actual consistency in the temporal displacement of their users.

It was obvious they were trying to push a higher volume of the "sands of time" in a small medallion, hoping to make a Time Turner capable of going back farther in time than a few hours. The white specter translocated to the adjoining surveillance chamber and began leafing through the parchments of notes. Apparently, the men weren't sure how much time the theoretical Time Turner would be able to jump, so they tried to see what the highest limit was, for the four of them at least.

The white man chuckled, seeing a scene in his mind's eye, of a man's head constantly going back and forth between infancy and old age while his body stayed unaffected. "How unfortunate it would be if _something_ suddenly happened to break their concentration." It would be the perfect cover.

The white man smiled, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind.

With a flash of white that none would see, he was gone again.

He reappeared right in front of Number 4, Privet Drive. Quite nondescript. The one who'd _chosen_ and had the potential for _destiny_ was in there.

He disappeared again.

Then he was sitting, cross-legged, on the lone shelf in the tiny cupboard under the stairs. Harry Potter's school books were neatly stacked on his right, the English text book alone was twice his size. One of the two spiders was lounging on its web up in the darkness. The other one was dangling on a thread, inches from the small boy's nose.

With a thought, the spider was wrenched from time and was outside the normal flow, hovering right in front of a disapproving ascended one. The creature quivered in fear, despite being as large as the man's whole head. A moment later the spider fell in the middle of a garbage dump on the outskirts of Budapest.

After a brief mental deliberation, the shining guest sent the second spider to keep the first company.

Time resumed, and the boy began to breathe softly enough that a less observant spectator would have thought time was still frozen. Finally, he could actually look at him.

Harry James Potter. Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.

He was beautiful.

The seven vortexes of light shone on him, and gold light seemed to emanate from his skin. The root, the four-petaled blossom at the base of the spine was a clear white. Pure. Harry potter was still a child, protected from the seeping torrents of the Earth's emotional spectrum. It was not yet infected, choking on the emotional waste of six billion people, most of which stemmed from erotic desire and its fulfillment, or lack thereof. Just like overindulgence, frustration of any kind did the Astral plane no favors.

The seat of the soul, the six-petaled center below the navel stood in sharp contrast to the root. It was fractured badly, infested. There was an intruder there, a dark force. It tainted the purple shine with sickly black ooze. It made the healthy solar plexus stand out more than usual, the ten-pointed star above the navel, a deep mauve with an orange star at the center. It was clear and solid.

The heart ray, right in the middle of the sternum was the nexus of all other six. A threefold flame in red, blue and yellow was there at the core of a lavender flower with twelve points. The boy could grow to be wise, loving and powerful. The light of the flower itself was somewhat dimmed though, downtrodden by how unloved Harry Potter lived. It was enough to dampen the hope instilled by the blue flower above the throat, its sixteen petals of sapphire blue gleaming with ethereal light. The boy's words held power, though he rarely spoke at all. With time, they may gain even more. It was fortunate that Harry Potter's relatives hadn't managed to break his spirit yet.

The Earth's newest resident stood up and looked deep into the child's third eye. The center of his forehead. The ninety-six petals of the emerald green flower shone well, but there was no brilliant white core. Instead, there was a black mass there, spread among the roots of the petals. The energy flow between the third eye and the seat of the soul was strong, but it could do nothing to dislodge the invader. The boy would normally not even be alive anymore. His soul would be dislodged, lost. His body usurped by the dark infestation, possessed. The dark intruder pulled misqualified energy from the Astral plane rather than the ethereal one where identity resided, pure and incorruptible.

And here was the beauty of this child. He had not one, but two crowns. The golden flower at the top of the head, the wisdom center, the governor of mental faculties shone bright, even though it was barely more than a bud. A second crown surrounded it, the 976 petals fully opened, receiving energy from a different super-planar source, and feeding it into the boy's being, keeping the invader tightly chained. His mother had gifted her _everything_ to her child.

It filled him, protected him. Kept him from succumbing to bitterness. Covered his physical body in its entirety, save for a small part: the single, green-tinted lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

How ironic that Avada Kedavra had done naught but reveal his role as a focal incarnation. The rune _Sig_. How _fitting_.

The time displaced guest took to the air, stopped to hover right above the boy's head and looked further. Examined him, everything he was. His life, from splendid to horrid. His existence ever since he came to be as an _identity_. As he knew from the start, his history was short. He was a new soul, unburdened. Ready for absolutely _anything_.

Then, finally, he saw them. The threads of fate. Although that was a misleading term, since destiny wasn't something set in stone. It was something everyone chose before being born, even if they never remembered it until after they died (again). Destiny was whatever goal the soul chose to set for their next life. Burdened souls often didn't have many choices, through fault of their own, but there was always choice. Free will. There definitely wasn't anything in the way of a direction imposed by some impersonal authority.

He looked past that, ignored the knot whose echo in the time-space continuum was already stored in the Hall of Prophesies. His examination became broader. Finally, he found the threads of those that had a stake in the child's life.

They were surprisingly few. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had the most visible ones. The handful left were very dim, and those that would have been the most important were gone. Barely any leftovers remained of them.

Had his mother's love not been with him all this time, Harry Potter would have already succumbed to the despair of loneliness.

Finally finishing his examination, the spirit looked down at the sleeping figure, once again inert like the rest of the world. "You want to know what to do with your life, eh?" The specter thought back, past the centuries and the selective omniscience, back to when he was still very much _incarnate_, with all the limitations that entailed. He had someone then, in need of guidance like this. For once, the solution did not depend on the limitlessness of being. "Well, I suppose you will first _need_ a life, won't you?"

He was going to milk the leeway he was granted for all it was worth.

"Rest easy young one." With a wave of his hand, a blanket of warmth descended on the small wizard, paralyzing the dark intruder for the night. "You may not know it with your mind, but you had enough sense to see it when you just accepted the wisdom sent to you. When someone wants something, _truly_ _wants_ something, then the whole universe will conspire to help them achieve it."

Naturally, in order to keep things _fair_ for everyone on the planet, he had two choices: not get involved at all, or get involved in a similar fashion in the lives of all abused children that were souls at their very first incarnations. And maybe the lives of every other sentient creature at their first incarnation.

Not very hard to guess which option was selected.

The white walker smiled tenderly at the sleeping boy. He had one last thing to tell him, but he needed to take care of something first.

With a mystifying flare, the ghost was gone. As soon as we was, time resumed its normal course, and a thundering explosion rocked the bowels of the Department of Mysteries in the heart of London. Alarms blared and panicked orders were issued, all Unspeakables were summoned to the Death Chamber that had literally imploded and then burst within the span of a single second with a deafening boom.

Out of all the Unspeakables, only four failed to heed the summons. The explosion of the Veil of Death released a shockwave and caused a localized earthquake. It was more than enough to shatter the ritual the four in the Time Chamber were performing. There was barely any time for shock and panic before the experiment blew up in their faces and knocked them all unconscious.

Time froze once again. The white, featureless man appeared in a cloud of mist and silver strands right in the middle of to the failed experiment. The sands of time hovered motionless in the air, as did various pieces of glass. A quick look around showed that all time turners had been destroyed by the shockwave.

Excellent.

The man held out his hand, palm up. Tiny glass shards flew together and reformed a perfect hourglass. Immediately after, the sand itself was freed from the temporal suspension the rest of the world was in. The grains rushed like a torrent straight for the small glass container, mixing, contracting but never getting crushed. More and more of it flowed into the unbreakable container until the ascended director decided it was sufficient.

One grain turned time back one second.

The new, and now only, time turner in Great Britain's Department of Mysteries held a total of 5,184,000.

The man let his hand fall to his side. The time turner was suspended there, motionless, like everything else.

A moment later, he was a small wisp again, in the tiny cupboard under the stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

00:00 became 00:01.

"Happy Birthday Harry James Potter."

And then he was gone, and time resumed again. Harry slept, unaware of the pandemonium deep in London's underground, and of the now only unissued Time Turner as it fell to the ground in the middle of a rune circle that four unconscious Unspeakables had botched through no fault of their own.

Unaware of how each line and crease in the star map above him smoothed out until his first ever present was good as new again.

"-. .-"

The core rule when performing a divine intervention is to _never_ actually intervene before being thoroughly acquainted with the place and/or situation in need of intervention. Then again, that rule only counts insofar as the one doing the intervening is actually _subject_ to the laws of space and time as understood by sentients carrying out their lives primarily in the physical plane.

Of course, here one might argue that rules are guidelines meant only to prevent mishaps stemming from lack of knowledge concerning the situation in question. Not something that could possibly happen to beings which, for all intents and purposes, are omniscient and, thus, know precisely what they should be doing in order to reach whatever goal they have.

There is no actual way to analyze this problem for a mind which, in all cases where it involves itself in a debate, whether internal or interpersonal, is incapable of working without the concept of point of view. Which is to say, all sentient beings on Earth, with the exception of Nicholas Flamel and 98 other agents currently acting in the world's best interest whether the world likes it or not.

One not restricted by such mental cages can do it easily though, and they can also find the best way to put it in words, even though some of the meaning cannot help but be lost in translation. Thus, the one bearing the hyphenated title of the White-Man-Who-Came-From-The-Unlabeled-Room already knew what he would say if ever asked what he was doing and why. Of course, from the planet's linear perspective, he'd already been asked that, and he'd answered that those _incarnate_ weren't the only ones who had the right to choose how to go about things.

He'd continued his explanation by saying that he'd chosen to not only intervene directly in the state of the world, but to do it while interacting personally with the world and its inhabitants. Because it was one of the many possible ways of intervening and it appealed to him because there were some things he could teach by example, and simply because he enjoyed interaction like everyone else (not counting sociopaths).

The one he was explaining this to suggested it might be a tad _unfair_ that he would always be interacting with the rest of the ascended host as well, to which he just said it wasn't his fault the denizens of the Earth hadn't pulled their heads out of their behinds and ascended yet. The one listening to him made a face, so the Spirit-Who-Came-From-The-Unlabeled-Room rushed to assure him that he loved him and everyone else anyway.

And then promptly beat the stuffing out of him a practice duel. Gently.

Their discussion continued throughout the fight, and evolved from there with every subsequent session. Eventually, The-One-Bearing-The-Name-Of-Many-Hyphens said that, in a way, he'd regressed to a much more limited state ever since he first took form, and especially from the moment he referred to himself as a _he_. When he chose a sex as it were, thus establishing his intended form and role in this particular episode in the cosmic waltz.

Curiously, the explanation as to how that progress somehow happened _backwards in time_ was much more easily understood by the young, black-haired former terrorist.

Terran magic really made no sense.

Or perhaps he should say that earthlings' _view_ and _understanding _(or lack thereof) of magic made no sense.

The sad part was that the Theory of Magic wasn't the only one crammed with fallacies. Apparently, it wasn't enough for the Magical World to completely secede from the rest of the sentients on Earth and proceed to misunderstand some of the most essential facts about Magic. The nature of the Will of the Primum Mobilae could never truly be fully described in words, no matter how many books are written on the subject.

But as he said, this, apparently, was not enough. The magical World also had to be illogical enough to create a prison manned by some of the most horrible abominations imaginable. The white one briefly considered destroying the Dementors, and maybe Azkaban while he was at it. Translocating all the prisoners somewhere would be easy enough...

But that would teach nothing and would violate the right of this world' sentients to choose on their own. They'd _chosen_ to make Azkaban what it was, even though Nurmengard had shown them there were viable alternatives. They would have to live with the consequences.

But here came the snag: the Magical World, or at least Magical Britain, had fallen low enough to toss innocents in Azkaban. In the highest security cells even.

Sirius Orion Black. Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Physically, he looked horrible. Esoterically, he actually didn't look as horrible as one would expect. The seven vortices were more or less intact. The seat of the soul was half-withered, but the degeneration had stopped, and could actually be repaired fully. The white man looked at the prisoner as he lay on his back on the hard slab that served as a bed, eyes vacant, staring at the ceiling. Though it was unclear if he could see that far. No, he wasn't actually seeing anything. The dementor was too close to allow that, right outside the door.

The bright visitor stepped forward, the only one capable of movement as time had been brought to a halt once more, and again _looked_. The convict was reliving the night of betrayal. Halloween 1981. The Godric's Hollow hut, smoking. The fight with Hagrid. The chase for Peter the traitor. Again and again. Every time the dementors came by, this scene replayed.

A look at the third eye revealed why this was. It was as desperate as it was ingenious. The knowledge that he was innocent, imprisoned despite never breaking trust. Not a happy thought. It was a memory so overwhelmed by the feeling of betrayal, and disappointment with those who should have stood by him and worked against the former minister, Bagnold, and former DMLA leader Barty Crouch, rather than let them throw him in this hell without a trial.

The man had clutched onto that thought and never let go. It had become a stopper, a block that prevented his third eye from being overwhelmed by other horrible flashbacks, and his mind from breaking. The energy flow between the green star and the seat of the soul made sure the latter ceased breaking down as well.

The white spirit gazed upon the fate threads that connected this man to everyone else who'd gained a stake in his life, thought acquaintance or other factors. The one leading to Harry Potter was only matched by the one leading to Peter Pettigrew. But there were others. One in particular was almost faded, and did not seem to be sustained through any effort or awareness on Sirius Black's part.

The divine white scarf was a long thing, a single end gliding through the air in lazy arcs. It wrapped around the thread and found the other end. _Family_ it determined.

Intriguing indeed. And there would be a meeting between that person and Sirius Black right after the spirit was to leave the cell, one that would have nothing to do with the disaster in the Department of Mysteries. After all, that event had yet to take place.

Truth be told, and the white one only ever spoke the Truth, the core rule to divine interventions was of his own invention. It existed mostly for him to have an answer in case someone asked.

That didn't mean he didn't follow it though.

Which was why he only allowed himself to progress normally through time for 60 cumulative seconds after coming out of the Unlabeled Room. That was the amount of time it took to watch Harry Potter sleep and for the experiment in the Time Chamber to go awry.

When he disappeared from Harry Potter's cupboard after creating the Time Turner, he went back in time precisely 60 days before appearing in the very small, 2 x 2 meters cell of Sirius Orion Black, Son of Orion an Walburga Black.

And now that he'd seen what he needed, he disappeared again.

He did not follow that unexpected fate thread though. Instead, he appeared in the quarters of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The one who could and should have wondered about Black's so-called guilt. The one who'd played the role of beacon in the previous Wizarding War but never actually accomplished anything than delay things and perform damage control, leaving it to two desperate parents and an admittedly spectacular babe to handle the matter.

In a way, Harry Potter's birth had been, itself, a divine intervention, since it enabled (with the new soul's consent) the making of the prophesy that distracted Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, from his chosen course which would have netted him victory (if it could even be called that), and made him personally seek out and try to murder a one year-old child.

An analysis of the old headmaster netted ambivalent results. The man truly meant well, and his Phoenix familiar was clear evidence that, at one point at least, he really was a force for "good." Though the word, and the way it skewed the perception of the more appropriate concept of "More," had severe pitfalls.

The man's "career" deserved no praise though. He was a competent and amusing enough headmaster, and he was definitely one of the most powerful wizards alive, but he'd failed spectacularly in his duties as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. The incredible number of discriminating laws and the rampant corruption in the Ministry of Magic was in no small part owed to his negligence and reluctance to actually take a proactive approach. It didn't help that he'd originally started out as a pureblood bigot and only got over himself when he ever so unfortunately caused his sister's death.

And then he spent years procrastinating, surrendering to guilt and self-recrimination, before finally engaging and defeating Grinderwald.

It was, perhaps, a harsh portrait of the man sleeping in bright green pajamas with pink stars, but it was a fair one.

The man was old, set in his ways. Too determined to act on his own counsel and keep information to himself, not realizing he did so due only to his fear of not being in control. Knowledge gave the illusion of control, and sometimes the real thing too. But this didn't really work out in the first War. They had almost lost after all, even though Albus Dumbledore was feared by Voldemort. The fact was that no one was ready to acknowledge or even conceive the idea that Albus Dumbledore was, however good a manipulator, a very poor leader.

The man probably never would admit to that, even if he did start to see the mistakes besides the ones he made about Grinderwald.

So if the leader of the Order of the Phoenix didn't even try to visit one of his most important members, to at least ask why he'd betrayed the Potters and say how disappointed he was, a different agent was needed.

The Man-Of-Many-Hyphens knew just the one, but he had some tasks to carry out first.

Time was still inert, but he was not. White motes and strands lit the air, and he was suddenly in the middle of the Hall of Records in the Ministry of Magic building. Since he'd traveled back in time to exactly 60 says prior to July 31, 1988, it was still 00:01.

No one was in the dark room, so he commanded the place to become visible as if it was the outdoors and in the middle of a warm summer day, and started looking through the records, following his intuition in order to easily find what was most relevant.

He could have just decided to go with omniscience and instantly summon the relevant files, or just _know_ everything written in them, but he had chosen to regain the personality he'd had during his last (and only) incarnation, so he decided to act within those limitations. "Time" wasn't going anywhere after all, and a direct look at the press would give his "sentient" persona an impression of Magical Britain's personality.

Not much "time" later, he'd found all the documents and news articles he needed. The birth and death certificates of James Charlus Potter and Lily Elizabeth Poter _nee_ Evans (both magical and non-magical). Their marriage certificate. The birth certificate of their son. Deeds to various properties, financial statements, debts (both paid or owed to and by other wizarding families). Then there were the ID papers of various friends and acquaintances of theirs.

But the most relevant were the issues of the Daily Prophet newspaper following All Hallows' Eve, 1981. The titles painted an interesting picture. Biased and sensationalized, but not altogether untrue. _You-know-Who Dead! Harry Potter Is the Boy-who-Lived_! (the article somehow managed to make it seem as though the deaths of the Potter parents were acceptable in the grand scheme of things), _Potters Buried in Godric's Hollow Cemetery__ (apparently, there had been a very nasty downpour of rain the entire day), __Death Eaters Captured after Attack on the Longbottoms!_(oddly enough, Frank and Alice got a better treatment in the press than James and Lily),_Imperiused You-Know-Who's Followers Cleared!_(here at least there was some skepticism concerning the claims).

The headlines went on in the same vein, but there was one that stood out: _Ancestral Potter Chateau Leveled! Death Eater Remnants Suspected to Have Died in Suicide Revenge Attack!_

The article loudly bemoaned the fate of the Potters' ancestral home, giving a short history of the family of the Boy-Who-Lived and the home itself, before it was somehow destroyed the following year after that fateful night, on July 31, 1982. Like a sort of sick present to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, according to the paper. The main theory was that the last of the Dark Lord's death eaters, still at large, somehow got a hold of enough spells, artefacts and whatever else to completely bring down the wards, level the castle and even the surrounding grounds, probably by accident, until there was nothing else but a beaten up and partially burned plain. They had supposedly perished in the backlash.

No explanation was given as to how it could have happened when the grounds, put together, were the size of a small town. It was also blatantly obvious that whoever wrote the article had never actually been to the castle (understandable, since it did not accept unauthorized visitors and was unplottable) and seeing that half of it was built over a lake, kept up by archway-shaped abutments. Equally unexplained was the total absence of signs that there had ever been a lake in the area. Too many inconsistencies for something that happened overnight.

The man of many names could clearly see the similarities between Griffon's Eye (as the Potter Family Manor/Castle was called) and the Chateaux de Chenonceau, a French chateau near the small village of Chenonceau, in the Indre-et-Loire departement of the Loire Valley in France. The architectural style and the construction above the water were very similar. Strange. England and France weren't exactly the best of friends during most of the Middle Ages, and yet the architecture of Griffon's Eye was almost identical to the French one, and nothing like the one exhibited by most other British castles. Doubly strange as it was supposedly built before the year 1000.

He considered _knowing_ what the explanation to that was, but decided it would be a good pastime to discover the facts through normal, linear means. If he was going to become embodied at some point, he may as well have some practice at normal research.

He decided to take a similar approach to the mystery of why the Potter Coat of Arms was the same as that of the Duke of Norfolk.

That concluded his business in the Hall of Records, so he banished the documents and newspapers to whence they came and, once again, disappeared. A momentary stop at Godric's Hollow cemetery allowed him a look at the graves and the coffins of James and Lily Potter. What he saw revealed another piece of the puzzle, and he was more satisfied. It gave special meaning to the words on the gravestone. "The Last Enemy that Shall Be Destroyed Is Death." Quite correct, save for the fact that _death_ was not actually an enemy, or even something to be feared.

More interesting was that it was a direct quote from the Bible - 1 Corinthians 15:26 - even though wizards had no actual religious beliefs of any kind, except for a sort of idea that magic was in some way sentient.

Then he was gone.

Only to appear in the tapestry room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black Family, whose head always held the title of Duke of Somerset Beaufort, or would hold it if the magical society world would be part of the rest of the world. As it was, as far as Great Britain and the Royal Family knew, the title went extinct on May 27, 1444.

This room was where that strange thread of fate involving Sirius Black led to. Or rather, the place through which it passed before proceeding to whoever the destiny thread belonged to.

He stepped forward until he was close enough to touch the tapestry itself, and because it was so tall and his goal was higher up, he just flew until he was hovering right in front of the name he was being led to. It showed a skull. Unexpected. So the thread led to a dead man.

The spirit smiled. It was an illusion. One that none on earth would be able to see through, because it had been set in place through arts unknown to any denizen of the Earth, save the 99 agents that, he knew, had never set foot in this place.

He withdrew, knowing everything he needed to know. The illusion would be left in place until the next Lord Black recognized it for what it was and called upon Patrisfamilias Ars Magica.

He only had one more thing to do in this place.

But not now.

The universe shifted, and then it was 10:35 P.M, November 3rd, 1981. Walburga Black was standing on the other side of the room, looking at the scorch mark that had once been her firstborn son on the tapestry. She had just received word that Sirius had been apprehended three days ago for betraying the Potters to Voldemort and murdering Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles.

Her face, even inert as it was, radiated satisfaction. She was _glad_ her son had finally "seen reason" and joined the right side, like his younger brother had. She did not even seem saddened over the fact that her son and heir was now in Azkaban.

Having seen enough, the bright man translocated to another place, one he'd only recently vacated: Godric's Hollow Cemetery. As soon as he was there, time was allowed to move as normal, and the rain roared as winds buffeted the oak trees, bare of leaves as they were. The rain was a chilly thing, almost freezing. Snow usually covered the land this time of year, especially in the West Country of England.

It wasn't a great place to be, and yet one man was there, in front of the freshly covered Potter grave. Kneeling, hunched forward, oblivious to the violent downpour. He was trembling, weeping. His body was being wracked by strangled sobs. The only emotion besides despair and crushing loss was faint gratitude to the heavens for weeping along with him, for crying hard enough to disperse the crowd gathered for that travesty of a funeral immediately after the whole matter finished. It had allowed him to come forth and mourn in solitude.

He'd made sure to spend the past two days in rage at Voldemort for existing and Sirius for joining him. Many things had broken under his fury. And even then it had been a calculated release. Had he not done it, had he not broken every single item he owned that had even the slightest thing to do with Sirius Black, he'd probably have carried enough anger to snap and allow the wolf to attack the people who came to gawk at the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived, and unashamedly chatter happily that the Dark Lord was finally gone.

The invisible watcher waited. He was intangible and made no sound, but stayed back instead of doing what he had come here for. He did not need omniscience, selective or otherwise, to know when to grant someone privacy. He could have just jumped through time and space again, well after the werewolf exhausted himself and fell asleep in the rain, but instead he waited. A breakdown like this, that did not stem from selfish attachment but from real, pure affection, deserved to be witnessed by someone.

Eventually, Remus Lupin collapsed, like the visitor knew he would. That he fell asleep there was more out of resignation than fatigue. The man would have managed to apparate home if he really wanted, but he just did not care at the moment. It was time for his werewolf physiology to show its worth for a change and prevent him from freezing to death. If he fell ill, it was just as well. If he was going to be miserable, he may as well do it all the way.

The brilliance had dimmed somewhat. The visitor looked more like a star than a sun now, as he stood over the poor man's unconscious form. Slowly, he bent down and laid a hand on the man's head. A moment later, there was no one on the ground anymore, only wisps of light that were already gone. Remus Lupin would wake up near noon the next day, neatly tucked in. The fireplace in the cottage bedroom would be filled with a nice warm flame. He would not know when and how he got there, remembering only himself crying over James and Lily's graves.

So he would convince himself that he got drunk and suffered shot-term memory loss, because it was the only thing that made sense. Even though werewolves weren't supposed to be able to get drunk enough for that.

That done, the white man looked past the mud and earth, past wood and the fabric in the coffins and saw that, indeed, what he'd found in the coffins seven years later, and only minutes ago to him, was not there.

The problem was soon fixed, and he was ready to leave.

He had two more stops to make.

Since, all-knowing as he was at times, he already knew which he'd choose, he flashed out of existence, and the universe shifted again.

When he resumed existence once more, it was May 5, 1979. He was in a very dark seaside cave, in the middle of a lake. The rough-looking pedestal in the center and the basin on top of it, filled with a luminescent liquid, the Drink of Despair potion made for an interesting sight, even without the horde of Inferi climbing out from the dark waters.

And _especially_ without the panicked young, dark-haired wizard weakly wrestling with a particularly vicious and disgusting-looking inferius.

Regulus Arcturus Black. Scion to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

He looked horrible. Physically and esoterically alike. But as far as the latter was concerned, he was much better than a day prior, though he'd still made more mistakes than logical choices after learning that Voldemort had created horcruxes.

To his credit though, the letter in the fake horcrux now planted at the bottom of the basin held only a tiny smidgen of arrogance. Repentance, in this case at least, was real.

_"To the Dark Lord,_

_ I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more."_

_ R.A.B _

The problem was that the poor boy was contradicting himself. On the one hand, he intended to destroy it as soon as he can. On the other hand, he was facing death... and he had no plan of action beyond "Kreacher, take the horcrux and run!" Or rather pop away.

Shock, revulsion and the realization the _Sirius was right all along!_ had definitely made a number on the 18 year-old's ability to think things through. And he was still arrogant enough to only think of doing things on his own.

Still, his heart was in the right place again, at last, and it wasn't like the white ascended one could choose _not_ to intervene after recognizing the illusion on Regulus Black's place on the Black tapestry. The illusion he would place there in precisely 14 minutes and 2 seconds, because it was there in the future and, thus, what was about to happen had, in fact, already happened from his perspective. Time travel did not allow the past to be changed. And while he could, theoretically, work with everyone else involved in cosmic shaping and reset the solar system to a certain state before July 31, 1988, there was no reason to actually do it. Humans had, by majority, chosen to have Earth as it was, and he would respect that.

When it_ wasn't_ a matter of majority vote though, all bets were off.

Like now.

Once he was done here, he would go to the place where the Potter's Ancestral home lay, and the day would be July 31, 1982.

"-. .-"

Regulus cried out in panic and struggled feebly against the corpse lying on top of him. When he realized he was the only one moving and making noise, he turned his bloodshot eyes on the horrid face of the monster holding him down and put all the strength he had left into one mighty heave. He could barely crawl away from the edge of the water after that. It took all his will to do it. He was thirsty. The potion he'd drunk before sending Kreacher away with Slytherin's Locket had felt like it was burning him from the inside, and it made his live horrible visions and memories, much like a Dementor would, only without the cold.

He backed away, shocked and confused at how still everything was, the water and especially the other crawling dead. Then his back met something, and he looked up, only to see a humanoid apparition, shining brilliant white in the darkness of the cave, looking down at him.

Silence.

Once again, the Death Eater was startled and backed away. He only stopped when his palm splashed into the lake water behind him. Just knowing what happened previously was enough to stop him. Slowly, he looked back up to whatever that thing was.

He found himself with a normal glass of water right in front of his face. "Drink." The... man said in a voice that carried its own echo.

Regulus hesitated, though it was half-hearted at best. Just a minute before he'd mindlessly tried to drink from the lake, even though he knew it was a bad idea. On the other hand, the part of his mind still operational noted that Kreacher didn't mention this when he described Voldemort's defenses...

What was he thinking?! Time freezing? Glowing spirits in the middle of the Dark Lord's hiding spot? He was probably dead, or on the brink of death and hallucinating-

"You know, if you don't want it, I suppose I'll just throw it away..."

"No, wait..." he croaked. His voice was raw, and he almost collapsed when he stopped supporting his weight with his arms. He doubted he could hallucinate such a sophisticated and realistic vision. Sirius was the one with the imagination. And if he was _dead_ it wouldn't make a difference whether he drunk or not. Although, if he _were_ dead, would he feel so awful and thirsty? Regulus didn't think he would be able to appreciate Kreacher more than he already did, but he'd been proven wrong.

The moment the water touched his lips, he felt part of the tension in his muscles fade. The cold liquid was like a balm to his stomach and he slumped with a sigh. Before he could think of returning the glass though, it was gone, vanished. Wearily, he looked up and tried to make out what he was seeing, but his best guess was a short man in some sort of armor, an ankle-length robe of sorts, and a scarf gliding through the air like it had a mind of its own. But he couldn't make out any details.

The apparition was silent, watching him. It had its arms crossed and it was leaning against the pedestal, five feet away. Regulus' mind was scattered, but not enough for him to forget to retrieve his wand before slowly climbing to his feet. A rushed analysis showed he was bruised all over, had a strained leg muscle and had torn his clothes while wrestling with that zombie. He noticed the sleeve on his left arm was ripped apart and he self-consciously shifted his position, moving the Dark Mark out of the... person's line of sight.

"I have only one question for you." He said. His voice sounded like a breeze upon the sea, and Regulus only then started to realize he was witnessing something extraordinary. "Why did you not inform your older brother of your findings and what you were setting out to do?"

Regulus wanted to do the predictable thing. To ask who or what he or it was. To ask what he wanted from him, why he was here, why then, _why come to me?_ But he somehow knew it was pointless to do it. SoRegulus actually thought about his answer, realizing that _everything_ depended on it. "I dug my own grave when I took the Dark Mark," he absently rubbed his left forearm as he spoke, not facing the ghost. "I have to deal with my own mess, and destroying the horcrux is the only way I can think of to make amends." He paused. "And because of what he did to Kreacher," he almost hissed that last part.

After a while, Regulus noticed that the ghost, or whatever it or he was, had said nothing, so he forced himself to look at him again.

"... I see." Regulus felt rather like he was being examined in very keen detail. And when the man uncrossed his arms, he felt dread descend upon him as shadows started to shift on the inferi again. "Then I will respect your decision to, as you said, deal with your own mess."

He barely evaded the mad lunge of the inferius on the left. "Depulso!" He didn't wait to see or hear the splash. He cast another banishing charm and looked around, only to see no sign of whatever he had been talking to until a second before. "Reducto! Lacero!" Desperate to move as far away from the water edge as possible, he made for the pedestal and pushed as much power as he could and yelled "Deprimo!" A large gust of wind blasted the three inferi on his right and gave him some room to maneuver.

"That was _it_?" He yelled at nothing. "Reducto!" Anger or desperation, he didn't know what it was that overcame the lingering agony from the potion. Either way, the inferius exploded nicely. "Why appear to me at all then!? Why - Accio inferius!-" he ducked and allowed the beast to fly over him and crash into one that was trying to sneak up on him. "Incendio!" Regulus would have cursed at how weak he was. Normally he was decent at silent sell casting but now he had to shout himself hoarse and he still barely got the spells out properly.

An inferius grabbed him by the arm, but he managed to cut it off with a cutting curse and banish it away. He knew he didn't stand a chance if this kept on, and he cursed Voldemort's name for installing an anti disapparition ward.

Another ten seconds and still no solution in sight. So he did the only thing he could think of that might work, even though he knew it was most likely suicide, simply, due to the drain on his magic that is would entail. "Protego maxima!" He felt his strength seeping, draining, but a dome of force started to raise from the ground, surround the small island almost entirely. Jabbing his wand forward a second time, he yelled again. "Fianto duri!" The dome grew and the color started to change. Regulus wasn't sure he was he was seeing it properly, but he pushed on, casting the last segment. "Repello Inimicum!"

He only had a few breaths to see the inferi burn and disintegrate as they threw themselves against his last ditch defense, but then he fell to his knees and almost lost a hold of his wand. Dry gasps shook his slim body and he had to grit his teeth and will himself not to lose consciousness.

When he finally saw things besides yellow spots, he blearily lifted his gaze and saw that the horde of inferi was still hurling itself at him. It made his stomach churn, the realization that Voldemort had murdered enough people to make an army of restless dead just to guard a dank cave that no one would ever visit willingly. Well, except him.

He tried to stand up, but failed. That had been his last move. He was honestly surprised he hadn't passed out. "Depuls..." His wand was as heavy as a maul in his hand. he would have heaved a bitter laugh if he wasn't too exhausted to do so.

At last the impregnable barrier collapsed and the inferi came at him from all sides. Through it all, the young wizard stared at his left forearm, where the Dark Mark could be seen. The sleeve had been torn off when the monster grabbed him earlier.

The creatures were just in arm's reach now.

"Alright!"

Silence.

Hesitantly, Regulus Black forced his head to lift. The dead glare of a moisty corpse was right in his face, but he was too out of it to react to it anymore, or to the five other beasts, ready to pounce, but frozen in time all the same.

Well past beyond caring what he looked like, he fell on his back and stared up at the featureless man. "I lied." it should have been hard to admit, but it actually felt liberating. "Or rather, I did not actually answer your question."

"No." The tone was impossible to discern. "No you did not. I asked why you did not send a message to your brother, not why you have taken the task you are so spectacularly failing to carry out."

Regulus wanted to snap that he'd planned it out, that Kreacher already had the locket... But instead he slumped further and let his shame show for the first time in 10 years. "I couldn't, I..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. It made him angry. "That stupid Gryffindor would have just destroyed everything! He'd have trampled ev... everything I ever believed! Everything I lived my life by!" With strength he did not know he had, he pushed himself to sit, and then he stumbled to his feet again. Yet again. "He would've-" He refused to sob. He wouldn't break down.

And even with his resolve completely spent, he yelled. "He would've just embraced and forgiven me!"

It was half question, half statement. "And you don't deserve that."

"No I don't!"

No response.

The young Death Eater was glad for it. It gave him an excuse to bow his head and push back the tears that so obstinately wanted to burst. It occurred to him that he still had no idea what was happening, who that man or creature was and why it was here. This might even be a hallucination, part of Voldemort's safety measures. Maybe the Dark Lord was watching him through a crystal ball somewhere, and laughing.

"You are a fool, Regulus Arcturus Black." The battered young man almost yelped when he saw that the bright light was less than a foot away. "But your heart is in the right place now. As for foolishness, well..." A spectral arm reached for him, and when the hand rested on his shoulder he felt like all his worries had gone away. "That isn't exactly an unsolvable problem."

A bright flare of white blinded him, and when he finally managed to blink away some of the haze, he found himself standing, barely, on the front porch of a house in the middle of a muggle neighborhood. It was midnight, and the half moon shone unobstructed from behind, lighting the name plate on the front door.

He stared at it. He couldn't come up with a better plan than just standing on the front porch of this unnamed muggle house and staring at the door. He must look a fine sight, ragged and beaten up, and filthy.

Tired, his eyes drooped, and it was just his luck that he noticed the welcome mat he was standing on. To muggles, it would look like a random piece of furnishing, but Regulus knew better. he'd seen that before. Or rather, he'd heard the meaning of the writing being spoken aloud once, long ago.

It was a rune pattern, one that roughly spelled "Tujours pur-ely bigoted and stuck up" in Futhark.

The corners of his mouth twitched, but Regulus was too tired to laugh, and if he tried, the movement would probably send him toppling, so he figured he may as well start do what people are supposed to do when at the door to a house.

Slowly, to avoid losing balance, he reached out and knocked.

Only his semi-conscious state made him constantly forget how many time he knocked, so he just knocked and knocked, and knocked again until someone finally answered.

"-. .-"

Marius Cygnus Black, age 59, had gotten over his anger at his family, who disowned him for being born a squib, decades ago. It took him a bit longer, and a really great wife, a squib called Leona de Leon and 42 years of age, to work through his issues of self-worth from years of constant prejudice being flung his way. These days, he thought he had a good enough life. Though he missed the magical world and its wonders, and he still envied those who had magic, he did not miss the bigots and rampant prejudice, and he was quite well off.

He'd graduated the British School of Law and also had a mastery in psychology. Leona often said it was because he wanted to understand people, their motivations and what they could do about their situation. It was a way to help people prevent or stop others from walking all over them, like he got walked over for the first part of his life.

As for his home, it was a comfortable two-story house he and his wife had bought in anticipation of having a family, two decades prior, before learning that Leona could never have children. The realization had crushed their hopes, and while they considered adoption, they never actually went through with the idea.

They kept the house though, because it was large enough to have guests over, and his job made sure he had many acquaintances, if not friends, some of which stopped by for a day or two from time to time. And while his family wanted nothing to do with him, that did not go for Leona's. Some of her cousins and brothers actually came to visit during Boxing day and the new year's.

He didn't expect any guests tonight though. there was nothing special about May 5, and yet he woke up to the sounds of knocking on the front door. The first thought was a rather rude swearword aimed at people who never heard about doorbells. A glance at the clock on the night stand showed 02:33. Marius would have pretended not to hear it, if the knocking wasn't so persistent and repetitive.

Beside him, his wife shifted awake. "Hmm... what's that knocking?"

Reluctantly leaving his wife's arms, he swung his leg over the side of the bed. "Someone at the door. Who the hell could it be at this hour?" Standing, he threw on his night robe and covered a yawn.

"Want me to come down?"

Marius drunk the sight of his wife for a few seconds. The moonlight streamed through the window and let some of the deep brown of her hair and eyes show, even in the deep night. She looked so young still. "No. You just rest."

Leaving the room, he climbed down the flight of stairs and switched on the lights in the hallway. The knocking hadn't become any louder or faster, but it hadn't gone the other way either. If this was a prank...

Whoever was on the other side finally stopped when Marius started working the locks.

When he finished, he opened the door.

And froze.

He kept away from the wizarding world, but even he knew what was in front of him.

His muscles locked up, and he mentally cursed himself for being so lax, for not having an end table next to the door, with a drawer for the gun instead of keeping it in the chest of drawers in his bedroom-

He was going to back away, but the young man launched forward and grabbed him by the wrist. He mentally cursed himself again for not taking his hand off the door handle and keeping it within the Death Eater's reach. He swore silently a third time, wide-eyed, when the indoor light finally fell on the face of the man and showed him exactly who it was.

Jaw-length jet black hair. Blue-grey eyes. Fair skin, smooth features and high cheekbones.

It made him lock up, even when the robed intruder took another step and brought forward his wand.

Only to gently place it in his hand.

Marius didn't react, beyond blinking in shock.

So Regulus Black, his _nephew_, his _Death Eater nephew_, carefully guided his fingers until they closed around his wand, _his wand_, and then let go, fell to his knees and collapsed the rest of the way with a dull thud that was all too loud in the dead of night.

A minute passed.

Then two, then another.

"Marius, is everything alright?" Leona gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. It finally snapped Marius out of his shock-induced paralysis. He stared in wonder at the wand in his hand, and then at his nephew, dead to the world, lying in his hallway at quarter to three in the morning.

"Is he alright?" His wife asked, climbing the rest of the stairs. "Who is he? Oh my..." She seemed to recognize him as well, even though she'd only ever seen him in pictures where he was still a teen. "Did he try to hurt you?"

"No..." The man answered dully.

"... Are there others out there?"

Marius seemed to realize the door was still open. "No." He blinked. "He gave me his wand..."

The sound of crickets could be heard clearly now.

"Marius?"

He finally jerked his head and snapped himself forcefully out of his strange trance. There would be time to analyze how surreal this situation was later. "Love," he shut the door and locked it, then turned to his wife with a grim look. "Please help me move him to the couch, then get the first aid kit."

"The muggle or magical one?"

Marius pondered the question as he looked at the beaten form of his nephew, imagining dozens of reasons why he could be there in this state. "Both."


	3. Chapter 2: Passive-Aggressive

**Author Note:** This and chapters 3 and 4 will show what happened before the happenings in Chapter 1. Harry IS the one that this story revolves around, but alas, Regulus will end up screwing up the background a lot, and then Sirius will do even weirder things. If you end this chapter with the feeling that you had to put effort into keeping interest, please tell me.

Also, chapter 3 will have a lot of action. Hopefully I'll make it engaging, or at least as decent as the scenes in my DA fanfic.

Extra A/N: I realized I was using the genitive case wrong. It's Patrisfamilias Ars Magica apparently.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Passive-Aggressive**

"-. .-"

There was nothing special about the fifth of May. Well, that wasn't strictly true. If you were a devout Christian, you _might_ know that May 5 was the day when the Second Council of Constantinople started in the year 553. Likewise, if you were a history lover with a propensity for exploration, you _might_ know that May 5, 1494 was when Christopher Columbus first sighted Jamaica during his second voyage in search of the New World.

There must have been several dozen more "events" with some degree of historical relevance that happened on May 5 but, nevertheless, the day had never been all that special. Unlike, say, the fifth of November 1605, when Guy Fawkes was apprehended for trying to carry out Robert Catesby's plot to destroy the House of Lords and all within it. Marius idly wondered if that old man Dumbledore knew just who the namesake of his fire chicken was.

Marius Black was usually a very pragmatic man. He'd become one of Britain's better solicitors thanks to a strong grasp of logic, understanding of human behavior and unwavering diligence in all his activities. His disastrous upbringing as a squib in a bigoted family until the age of 20 did not exactly provide him with a viable groundwork for morals. Fortunately, he'd gotten Leona to act as his moral compass for a time until he managed to get himself straightened out.

It was almost amusing that, as far as squibs went, he was actually among the lucky ones, if the term even applied. Due to the fondness that his sister Dorea had for him, he wasn't abandoned in a random muggle orphanage, or quietly "purged." Sadly, Dorea married to Charlus Potter when she was 17, and Marius was 20, and while her marriage was actually well received (Potter, though a _light_ family, was pureblooded, ancient and wealthy, hence why Dorea got her way), it also meant Dorea was no longer around to stick up for him.

He was procured a basic muggle flat in London by his father as a last favor to Dorea, but then he was on his own. The only reason he managed to catch up on muggle education and attend high school at just above the appropriate age was the fact he'd done a lot of self-study on every non-magic subject he could think of while growing up, and he'd been reading all the law books in sight as well, despite not having that great a love for the activity. Dorea always did say he'd have been a Hufflepuff if he'd been a wizard, instead of a Ravenclaw.

Between that and his fairly decent mental capacities, he was able to learn enough in a year to ace his Law School entry exams.

After that, even with a part time job at a book store (which catered to both magical and non magical folk), he went through Law School, then a mastery, then Psychology college studies.

Leona, he'd met during a trip to Diagon Alley. While squibs couldn't perform magic, they still had enough to see magical sites and creatures, and for muggle-repelling wards to fail against them. He didn't make much money, but it was enough to get by, and the ever-full-ever-fresh icebox his brother-in-law Charlus sent him for his first Christmas definitely helped his savings. Marius would have sent the icebox back, but the still recent terror of having to fend for himself in the muggle world was much stronger than his pride during that first year. In later years, he would revisit the decision, arguing that the foodstuffs only kept appearing because someone kept footing a bill somewhere. But he never sent it back and probably never would.

If Dorea and Charlus were to die before him, Merlin forbid, Marius suspected Dorea would probably make a specific mention in her Last Will and Testament about it.

But his thoughts were straying. Odd. That didn't usually happen. For him to stray from thinking of Leona to food was almost insulting. Of course, if she were there and heard what he was thinking, she would only laugh. Just like she did when they met, around the time when his independent solicitors' office was starting to gain a bit of traction. It was the winter holiday and he was in Diagon Alley, restocking his essential potions kit. His lifestyle didn't involve any actual enemies out to injure him, but Pepper-up potions were handy during winter nights. A by-product of always wishing for one or two during his first two years, when the flat's heating system failed.

It was a morbid reason, and the one he told her, in perfect deadpan, when they somehow ended up bumping into each other in the apothecary. The way they met was a lot like one of those romance flicks on television that always got aired during the winter holidays. Her buoyant manner was refreshing to a moody adult in his thirties like him. They hit it off, and he learned she was French visiting some distant family in Britain. They met two more times before she had to leave, and Marius didn't dare think he'd ever see or hear from her again. Especially with the 17-year age gap between them. She was a 17 year-old girl for crying out loud. Just young enough to be his daughter.

Which was why it was such a shock to have an owl swooping through his kitchen window a week later with a letter from her. It told of the rest of her trip, how boring it had been compared to their talks at the Florean Fortescue ice cream parlor, and how she'd taken it upon herself to talk him through whatever was bothering him because he looked like he needed it.

_"No man would shut up and listen to a girl talk for so long about foolish things without saying anything or steering the conversation in a way that would let him brag for a change."_ He knew the words in that letter by heart, even now. _"Not unless he lacks the inflated ego of most men. You clearly fall in this category, but I got the impression you have a low opinion of yourself, so spill. What could make Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelor brood so?" _

The correspondence eventually became regular enough for him to get an owl of his own. The rest, as they said, was history. Most shocking of all was the general approval on the part of her family. There was no drama, no threats from brothers, nothing beyond a couple of "family meetings" with Leona's sizable clan (which, he'd noted with some jealousy, hadn't disowned her and wasn't showing signs of ever considering doing so). The age difference between the two of them probably got overlooked because Leona's parents were quite far apart in that regard as well.

There also seemed to be a perverse pleasure in seeing their daughter married for love other than anything else. The de Leon family was an old one, a light family, but its former patriarch had still arranged the marriage of its heir. The head couple seemed to get along well, and it was most ironic that one of the sources of their unity, in that matter at least, was a dislike of the fact that such control could be levied over the lives of the family scions.

Magical heirs would still have to go through all the drama of courtship and maybe even marriage contracts, depending on what debts the family got itself into. Squibs tough, while looked down upon, did get the better deal in that they had all the freedom they wanted when choosing their mate for life. Choosing an "improper" mate could never be more shameful than being a squib in the first place after all, and you could always just disown tem if push came to shove.

They married three years later, soon after Marius turned 37. The memory of the blatant envy on the faces of his male colleagues, neighbors and other acquaintances still made him smile. The suspicious and disapproving frowns of some of the housewives cracked him up even more.

It soon became clear that his wife had been more needed than he'd ever thought. She was the one that finally made him get over a lifetime of resentment aimed at those who shared his blood. It was her that managed to get him work out his issues and free himself from his so-called family once and for all. His cleaner morals eventually led to a code of conduct that his legal practice never strayed from, and his decision to only take truly legitimate and deserving cases. His reputation as a "fair and outstanding lawyer" was just a bonus that resulted from all that.

He didn't exactly accumulate as many contacts and "favors" as smarmier lawyers, but he still had some.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. Marius' didn't, even though he'd been sure, for a second, he was about to kick it when Regulus showed up on his doorstep two nights before. He thought Death Eaters were attacking. Instead, it was replaying itself now, as he sat on a chair next to the bed in the spare bedroom, staring at the dark brown wand in his hands. It felt light as he kept twisting it by the tip.

His nephew hadn't woken up since he'd passed out two days before, in the dead of night. Neither he nor his wife were healers, but he could guess it was a mix of physical damage and exhaustion. Marius didn't know for sure even now if magical exhaustion actually happened, or if this was just plain exhaustion, but the symptoms seemed to be the same. The couple times Regulus did turn in his bed, he was mumbling something about a creature, inferi and some white ghost. They'd promptly given him a dreamless sleep potion to get him past the delirium.

Marius wondered if he should even call him his nephew. He'd been disowned by the family after all. He had no obligations. Now that he was looking at the wand and not the young face of the teenager in the bed, he could argue that he really should call the aurors. But that idea always died when he lifted his eyes and looked at him. And even Leona had told him to wait and talk to him. It was a wonder how much handing over one's wand could help negotiations.

Blue-grey eyes were staring at him.

Marius didn't react. He just stared back.

It lasted a while, but Regulus never averted his eyes, not even to look at the wand no longer in his possession.

"Marius, is there any..." His wife sure had good timing. "... change...?" She paused in the doorway and took a moment to look at the two of them. Realizing he'd broken eye contact to look at her, he turned his eyes back on the younger Black scion and found him looking at his wife instead. There was nothing in that gaze, but his lips did move.

Whatever he wanted to say, it only came out as a dry croak.

Leona immediately closed in, took the vial from the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed. "All at once is best." She gently slipped her free hand behind his head and helped him drink. Regulus grimaced at the taste. "It's a pain potion. Here, wash it down." She took a cup of water next and helped his take it. "Small sips." Regulus managed to hold the cup on his own, so Marius sent his wife a look that told her to step away.

No matter what had happened with the wand giving, he still didn't trust a Death Eater close to his wife.

When his nephew finished drinking, Marius scooped up the cup and put it back on the nightstand. Silence followed, but it couldn't last forever. He considered approaching this from a solicitor's perspective, but in the end just went with the most straightforward question. "What are you doing here?"

Regulus didn't seem to think anything of his even tone. "Where are the Aurors...?" His voice was raspy, and Marius didn't think it could be from anything they did. What had he done before coming here that he'd damaged his throat so much?

"Not here yet." Marius leaned back in his chair, tapping the wand against his knee. Maybe if he thought the aurors were on his way, he would-

Regulus blinked and looked at the window on the wall to his left. "What time is it?"

Leona glided over to the window and pulled the drapes apart. Sunlight streamed into the room, making Regulus cringe. "It's early afternoon, as you can see."

"Now, are we going to play 20 questions or how is this going to work?" Marius needed answers, and he needed them now.

"Are you people insane?" Regulus asked with some heat, turning to his great-uncle again. Now _that_ had been unexpected. "What are you thinking harboring a known Death Eater? I should be waking up in a ministry holding cell! What are you going to tell the aurors when they ask why you've waited for half a day to pass before flooing them?"

Marius noticed his wife's mouth going just the slightest bit ajar in confusion, though she let her husband speak for the both of them. "You're the one that popped over all of a sudden. And for that matter, you've been out of it for two days."

Regulus stared, disbelieving. "Oh damn." He palmed his face and passed his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Damn damn damn..." He repeated it a couple of times, like a mantra.

Marius was starting to get anxious, with worry or annoyance, he didn't know which. "Now settle down lad and tell us what the hell is going on-"

Instead of an answer, he was rewarded with Regulus suddenly bolting upright. The blankets got tossed aside and Marius barely had enough time to jolt to his feet. Part of him started to panic. That was the part of the room where his wife was, and the lad had just shot to his feet, close enough to do who knows what.

Only to turn his back on her and stumble into the chest of drawers near the remaining wall. "Damn. Have to leave. Have to get out of here..."

It took hearing a few more muttered words for Marius to shake himself out of his momentary scare and slowly walk to the confused lad. "Regulus, what-?"

But it was like he didn't even realize they were there anymore, or that he only had a pair of pajama pants on and little else in terms of clothing, bandages aside. "Need to leave. You're a Slytherin, think! That's it! I could apparate away! Somewhere public..." As worried as he looked, he ploughed on. "If I just do that, they won't have a reason think I was here..."

Marius stared at him, gobsmacked. Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

Regulus grabbed at his hair in frustration. "Then what? Go to Grimmauld? No, that would be the first place they'd look. With my identity out... Maybe I should just walk into the nearest shop, floo to the ministry and turn myself in." He was pacing now, oblivious to the other two. "No! They'll put me under veritaserum for sure! Then they might find out I was here. Dammit! And the Dark Lord will think it's suspicious and check on the locket! What's left?"

His wife may still have been reeling from the previous shock, but Marius was fed up with this rant. In a move that would have anyone wincing in sympathy, he slapped Regulus hard enough to break him out of his ramblings. Close as he was, the older Black could see those irises readjusting as the lad remembered where he was. "Dammit boy! Calm down!" It was as far as his hard edge got him before it broke under the onslaught of his confusion. "No one knows you're here, and unless you did something really stupid before showing up on my welcome mat beaten half to death, then no one knows you're on the run either."

Regulus blinked a few times and hesitantly brought a hand over his burning cheek.

Marius breathed out and slowly but firmly placed both hands on his shoulders. "Regulus... what _happened_?"

He only had time to watch the young man's stunned expression for a few seconds before said nephew collapsed against him unconscious a second time.

But he didn't meet the floor this time. Marius made sure to support him and carefully carry him back to the bed, where Leona helped tuck him in.

"He just _had_ to make sudden movements in his sorry state, didn't he?" Her voice did not contain any heat. Only the sort of exasperation Marius used to drive her into back when he still thought he could get away with working while going through a bout of flu. "Yu should go get some sleep too," she told him. "I'll take over for you. I think now we can be reasonably certain he means us no harm."

"I'm _not_ letting you stay here alone with him." No way in hell.

"Well we can't just risk him waking up to an empty room, Marius," she said reasonably. "He might panic again, waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. It's a big change from that ancient manor you talked about to a mundane house like this." Leona never used the word "muggle." She said "mundane," "normal" or "norm" instead.

"Didn't really make a difference just now, did it?" The man knew when to back down, and this wasn't it. "Look, you really think I'll be able to rest knowing you're alone in the same room as a marked Death Eater?"

She sighed. "And how is that better than him waking up to you sleeping in your chair? Doesn't make you much safer than I would be."

"Hey hey," he wrapped his arms loosely around her neck, mindful of the single bun her wavy hair was wrapped into on the nape of her neck. "You talk as though I never pulled all nighters before."

Leona huffed and half-heartedly disentangled herself. She opened her mouth to say something, but reconsidered, shook her head and glided out of the room.

Marius pulled his chair near the bed, leaned back and crossed his arms, stifling a yawn all the while. He'd only just begun to consider that his better half had a point about not sleeping enough, when a comfy, plush chair was installed right next to him and the woman in question took her own seat. "This way you can't say I'll be alone in the room with him, and we can take turns." She held out a steaming cup while she, herself, drunk something from her own. "Yours is tea, so you can doze off. I'll have coffee. I'll wake you up two hours after you inevitably drift off. Hopefully your nephew won't take another day to rouse." Once her hand was free, she put her left leg over the other and smoothed down her green dress.

Knowing he wouldn't get a better deal, Marius leaned back in his seat, thanked the heavens he'd taken time off for a couple of weeks even before Regulus dropped on them, and wondered just how much his life would be changing.

"-. .-"

In the end, just under four hours passed before Regulus stirred, meaning that Marius was the one awake when it happened. There were no fireworks, no crashing dreams or panic attacks this time. Just a teenager drifting awake and showing clear confusion because this wasn't his bedroom. Marius watched his face going through several expressions, from drowsiness to surprise, then confusion and remembrance before settling into a strange brand of resignation.

That was good. There was a chance he wouldn't remember the previous time he woke up. Since he did, it meant his brain was more or less fine. Marius picked up the pitcher and started to pour water in a glass. "Just so we're clear." The young man only then seemed to realize he wasn't alone. "If you try to continue what you were doing before, I'll straddle you and have my wife tie you to the bed until you calm down." Setting the pitcher back on the nightstand, he held out the glass. "Although I suppose I can't prevent you from disapparating."

Regulus had been painstakingly trying to sit up but froze. He actually looked like he was considering the option, but did nothing. Marius didn't know if he was worried he'd splinch himself or had some other reason to stay. The older Black leaned towards the latter. There must have been some reason the lad showed up on _his_ doorstep of all people.

The man narrowed his eyes as his extended hand went by ignored, despite the drink being offered. "You know, if you don't want it I suppose I could just throw it away-"

With a strangled gasp, Regulus threw himself out of the bed and backed away from his relative.

Marius slapped himself with his free hand. "Young man, haven't we already been through this?"

Regulus just eyed him and the cup of water warily.

"You know, if I wanted to kill you I wouldn't have waited for you to wake up before poisoning you." This was getting annoying fast. "Let's try this some other way." The man drank from the cup and set it down before pulling a certain wand from his pocket. "Remember this?"

Regulus stared.

Marius stared back.

Movement was heard, but before the older man could look, Leona had already moved outside his reach and around the bed. He hadn't even heard her wake up. "My wife is going to help you back to the bed as soon as you realize you can barely stand." Sure enough, Regulus swayed just as the woman got close enough to support him. "Then you're going to start talking, understood?" If anyone would have told him the week before that he'd be giving a trained wizard a talking to, nevermind a Death Eater, he would have suggested they see a mind healer. It went to show that life could never really be too bizarre.

Soon enough, a visibly embarrassed young man was back in bed, though he was sitting up, much to Leona's disapproval. She fussed enough with his pillow that Marius had no illusions about what could have made Regulus' face turn so pink, even though it had been almost deathly pale just minutes before. At least it meant he was getting his health back.

When the lady of the house sat back in her chair, Regulus was looking at his hands as they crumpled the sheets in front of him. "This will sound cliched but I don't know where to start..."

"How about the reason you ended up nearly beaten to death on our doorstep?"

"Oh," As soon as the lad realized he was looking at them, he averted his eyes again. He smiled wryly. "I was fighting... well... getting trampled, more like, by the dark lord's horde of inferi." He paused. "Well, the one horde of inferi _I_ know of at any rate..."

Beside him, Marius heard Leona's sharp intake of breath.

"As for how I got here..." The lawyer really couldn't find any hint that Regulus' bafflement wasn't genuine. "I suppose I got teleported here somehow? But it wasn't apparition..." Whether it was because he wanted his next question to be taken seriously or some other reason, the Death Eater looked straight at him. "Did you have any odd... guests recently?"

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Odd guests?"

"The short, stocky, strangely iridescent or outright shining like a lamppost kind."

Marius almost snapped at him to take this seriously when he realized the boy actually _was_. "Not that I remember..."

"Then how and why did he send me here...?" Regulus asked no one in particular. "I don't even know who or what he was..."

"Young man," Leona took over. "Maybe you should start from the beginning? We have all the time in the world for a good life story." Marius knew that smile. It was the kind that got on her face whenever she encountered something truly interesting that she was willing to drop everything for.

"The beginning? Which beginning?"

"How about when, why and how you became a Death Eater, all the way to why you quit, which is, I am guessing, what happened?" Marius had tried to be a shrink for a while, but he ended up liking law more. He still knew how to play the psychiatrist though, to an extent.

"That's not really the beginning..." Regulus said slowly, his eyes going unfocused as he began to relive his past. "The pebble that started the proverbial avalanche... I suppose it was Sirius getting sorted into Gryffindor."

"I do hope you aren't going to blame everything on him?" Marius didn't even try to hide his disbelief.

Regulus shook his head vigorously. "Not at all, but it really _was_ the beginning. Picture the heir to _the_ most prominent Dark family, almost purely Slytherin save for a few Ravenclaws in the family tree. Now picture that heir rebelling against his family's dogma and getting sorted into Gryffindor, which has been enemies with Slytherin ever since the Dark Lord gave that house a bad name. Now picture the second son, just one year younger..."

Marius leaned back in his seat and grabbed the bridge of his nose. "They treated you as a replacement didn't they?"

"The perfect pureblood prince that Sirius never was," Regulus didn't even try to stop the resigned and slightly sour grin. "And I was soft enough to do everything expected of me, until, for a while, I thought I held the same beliefs and didn't even question what was 'proper' for a scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. After I was sorted in Slytherin in my first year, well, mother dearest made sure to compare me to Sirius at every opportunity, and vice versa. I was the perfect pureblood prince but..."

"But she never told you that did she?" Leona said in understanding. "You were there just as a measuring post for Sirius."

"Until he got rightfully fed up with it and ran away to the Potters." He paused, thinking. "I'm not even sure what sent him over the edge. There was only one more year until his majority. Something bad must have happened if he couldn't get through that one last summer..."

"Well, we'll get there," Marius waved the topic for later. "You started talking about your first year. Go from there, say everything you remember and don't mind us knowing. Maybe it'll help you figure yourself out as you remember more details. You don't need to tell every anecdote. You can keep those for later. The highlights will do."

Marius had guessed well that it would be a good thing to say. He'd been just as confused at one point in life, until he managed to figure out what to do with it. Logic said he shouldn't bother with this at all, and call the aurors, but he felt he should follow his gut instead, just as it was certain that Leona would definitely shoot down his idea of turning the boy in if he brought it up again.

Regulus relaxed against his pillow and, after searching his thoughts, began talking.

"-. .-"

Two hours later, Marius didn't need coffee anymore. he needed a good scotch, maybe a full-blown firewiskey even. "So let's see if I've got this right..." This had to be the craziest and most worrisome story he'd ever heard, even taking into account the existence of magic, and Marius just didn't think it was a lie. No one had _that_ kind of imagination. "This Dark Lord of yours somehow split his soul and shoved a part of it in an anchor, thus making himself immortal. Then he came to you and asked for your house elf, which he dragged to this cave and fed a potion that made him feel like he was experiencing a mixture of Cruciatus and dementors. And then left your elf to die, only he didn't because you'd ordered him to come back as soon as the Dark Lord was done with him. So you nursed him back to health... how long did that take exactly?"

It was a real surprise to see the pained look on the lad's face when he was thinking about it. Marius wouldn't have thought someone raised like Regulus would have cared so much about a house elf. "Four days."

"And then you asked him to take you there, which he did... and then had him feed _you_ the potion because there was no other way to get to the horcrux and you weren't going to put him through that again..." Marius really was amazed he'd gotten all that information so easily. He'd have expected Regulus to withhold the nature of those dark objects if nothing else. "But why did you send Kreacher away and didn't get him to take you along?"

The traitor Death Eater grimaced. "The potion was too much for me. After Kreacher finished feeding it to me and was retrieving the locket, I was overcome by the need to drink some water, any water. I think the Dark Lord planned it that way, and included a compulsion to make you want to drink from the lake. When I disturbed the water, we got swarmed by Inferi and I... I panicked. Kreacher was too far away and I was being dragged off so I yelled at him to leave and destroy the locket through any means necessary."

They all fell silent for a time.

"Who else knows about this?" Leona finally asked, her tea cold and forgotten.

"No one," Regulus sighed. "I told Kreacher not to tell anyone about any of this on our way to the cave, no matter what happened. The only reason we managed to get to that island was because the Dark Lord didn't think about house elf magic being capable of ignoring anti-apparition wards." He frowned. "Which is odd because every pureblood knows elves can teleport through any wards."

"Maybe he was too arrogant to think house elves were anything to worry about?" Leona said drily.

Regulus inclined his head but didn't look convinced.

"But how did you get here?" Marius asked. "And for that matter, why?"

Regulus looked just as confused. "To the second, you didn't even cross my mind. To the first, I am not sure what to think, and what I remember sounds just too farfetched."

"Describe everything you remember then," Leona told him.

So he did.

There was an awkward silence.

"I did tell you it would sound unbelievable," Regulus grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, in spite of Marius' wife scowl. "I'm not completely sure I didn't hallucinate it all to be honest." He had his back to them now, on the other side of the duvet as he was, and slowly got to his feet.

"But you _did _ get here somehow," Marius said, no longer worried about the young man moving around. "And you say you didn't even know where we lived?"

"No offense, but if I'd managed to disapparate, I'd have probably gone looking for help from the Potters like Sirius did three years ago." Regulus had reached the window and was looking outside. "And now that I can see part of this... neighborhood, I can safely say I still have no idea where you live." He turned to look at them curiously. "Do all houses in muggle neighborhoods look the same?"

"Yes." "No."

Marius and Leona gave each other a look. Regulus had managed to stumble across an old argument of theirs.

"Anyway," Marius said with an exaggerated shrug. "I assume that's why you asked us if we'd had strange visitors recently?"

"That's right."

"Well, we haven't had anyone like that here. We'll assume it was some mystery wizard belonging to a third party until we figure out otherwise."

Regulus scoffed. "I think you might be overestimating the magic of wizards and witches. _No one_ can stop time, let alone do it for specific objects and people. The only reason I'm not arguing for the only alternative I can think of is that it's even more unbelievable, and illogical."

"Aren't you repeating yourself?" Leona asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe. Well, not really. I mean, it doesn't make sense! If it is some sort of supernatural being, why interfere just _now_? This war has been going on for years, and this... person who can stop time on a whim and completely ignore all laws of magic in the process only _now _shows up just to tell me I'm a fool?"

Marius felt his lips twitch. He doubted Regulus wanted that to slip. "Well he does have a point."

A beat. "What?"

"We you have to admit," Leona took over, guessing his thoughts. "Going there alone, and not telling anyone in case you failed whatever you intended, was rather foolish." Her eyes went hard. "Unless you didn't plan to come back at all."

Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it and looked pointedly away.

Marius considered going with his first impulse of starting a lecture on the value of living, but he god a better idea. "What did you do for him?"

That got the lad's attention. "For him?"

"The so-called Dark Lord," the older man explained. "What were you to him? Did he have you do?"

"Oh." The young man thought about his answer, absentmindedly rubbing his left forearm through the sleeve of the shirt he'd put on half-way through his story. "I was a member of his inner circle."

Marius would have choked on his drink if he was drinking anything in that moment.

"All of us in the Black family were," Regulus continued, not noticing the shock on the elder Black's face. "Me, Bellatrix. I'm pretty sure Lucius Malfoy got a post because he was Narcissa's husband more than because of his money. The Dark Lord said once that we were the only family with a knowledge of dark magic equal to his own." Regulus snorted. "I'm pretty sure the Blacks forgot more about dark magic than he ever learned."

Marius' eyebrows were very near his hairline.

"I think we were his side project." The young Death Eater had walked to the chest of drawers and was running his fingers over the frames of the old, still photos. "He wanted all of us in the Black family for his 'collection.' He tried to recruit Sirius more than once too, and I know he tried to get a meeting with grandfather Arcturus once, but the family head never answered any of his owls or other messages. I know because the Dark Lord actually asked me to tell mother to intercede on his behalf."

"Why didn't she?" Leona was honestly curious, Marius could tell. He was too.

"The Dark Lord changed his mind when I told him mother had been banned from contact with the Paterfamilias ever since she used the Cruciatus on Sirius when he was sixteen." Leona went pale. "It wasn't what drove him away, I don't think. I mean, that wasn't the first time she used Crucio on Sirius. Grandfather didn't take kindly to her causing the family heir to abandon the House of Black though, so he effectively imprisoned her in Number 12 Grimmauld Place by ordering Kreacher never to let her leave and commanding the house wards to prevent her from using any sort of magical travel."

Well, that information had certainly been a surprise. "And you-know-who didn't know this?"

"Well, no one did, officially, just like, _officially_, the reason Voldemort never got a message to Arcturus was because the manor where the Paterfamilias lives has very, _very_ specific owl wards and mail screening methods. And grandfather never actually left that manor for the past several years. He even missed all the Wizengamot sessions and refused to send a representative for some reason. Basically, you can't have contact with the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black unless he initiates it. Really, I'm sure grandfather just didn't want anything to do with him, and the Dark Lord knew this, just like grandfather certainly knew he knew this."

"I'm surprised you-know-who didn't try to go after him for it." Marius was annoyed about being told not to use the name "Voldemort," but when the mere utterance of that word brought dark wizards swooping down on you because of a Taboo curse, you didn't really get to complain.

"I think he didn't want to risk alienating those of us who'd taken his mark," Regulus assumed aloud. "Bellatrix is pretty devoted to him, almost fanatical, despite being married to someone else. And she _is_ his top fighter. Me though, well, he had me doing some really important research and he didn't want to risk Arcturus retaliating by going after us and rendering me unable to do what he told me to."

Marius asked. "What were you doing for him?" at the same time Leona asked "What do you mean, go after you?"

Regulus almost hid his grin. Almost. "Well, we may have the dark mark, but the Head of the Family still has a greater authority over us. If he wanted, he could do some nasty things with the family magic. The head has various ways of enforcing his will by summoning Patrisfamilias Ars Magica. Mother disowning people left and right by blasting them off the family tapestry has nothing on that. It's just her way of throwing a tantrum I suppose. For example, she blasted Sirius off the tapestry, but grandfather never disowned him, and as far as I know the family magic still recognizes him as the rightful heir."

"So what _were_ you doing for this Dark Lord of yours." Marius pressed for the nth time.

"I was mostly a researcher," Regulus said slowly, air quoting when appropriate. "Bellatrix often 'joked' I didn't have the nerve for the real action during inner circle meetings. I suppose knowing Arithmancy and Ancient Runes _would_ give the idea that I'm more of a thinker than a fighter, and I suppose I am, in a sense." He leaned against the chest of drawers an crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Dear cousin never realized what a favor she did me by doing that. Along with some fast talking on my part about healing magic and how too much murdering would affect my ability in that area, it got me out of having to partake of the regular 'initiation' of killing a few muggles or muggleborns."

Now _that_ Marius had trouble believing. "You're telling me you've been skirting on the edge from the very start?"

Regulus looked ashamed and shook his head slowly. "No. I bought into the whole Dark Lord's spiel at the start. That I didn't go muggle hunting was because I really didn't have the nerve to go out and... well." He made some vague gestures with his hands. "I put all my Slytherin brain to work and did some fast talking. I even said grandfather made sure I knew that the Noble House of Black did not lower itself to the butchering of animals. I knew the Dark Lord would take it well if I referred to muggles as such." He paused. "I also _may_ have implied to Bellatrix that the Paterfamilias would be... displeased if the _Heir_ of Black showed weakness by agreeing to 'prove himself' as it were, as the House of Black did not need to prove anything to anyone." Another pause. "While I knew the Dark Lord was listening."

Marius stared at the young man and felt his respect going up a few notches. He'd essentially avoided claiming he was the Heir but made Voldemort think he was it anyway. It had been a risk, but Voldemort took the bait and decided it was more prudent not to risk Arcturus' ire until Regulus succeeded him. It _would_ seem like a good trade for eventually having the head of the most prominent dark family as an underling. Still, there was something that didn't fit. "I'm surprised you fooled him. Most people would have stumbled, or gotten their minds read?"

Regulus really grinned then. "Most people aren't Occlumens." He pulled himself from the chest of drawers. "My late father, who even my brother tolerated, taught me. Sirius too. Most don't have the skill though. Even Bellatrix is among the ones that lack Occlumency. She's always been emotional and never bothered trying to sort out her mind. The only reason no legillimens can read her during duels is because her dueling technique and spell chains are so ingrained that she doesn't have to actually think about them before casting them. It's her special talent. I actually envy her a little. Too bad she's also insane."

"You still haven't said _what_, exactly, you were doing for this Dark Lord," Marius reminded him.

Regulus grimaced. "I was ordered to use the Black Family Library and its vast trove of dark tomes to create new curses and other spells, or improving existing ones." He hesitated. "I've been doing that since I graduated. I also managed to turn the runic ritual for creating inferi into a simple wand spell." He hung his head in shame. "It had high power requirements, but that was no problem for V- the Dark Lord." He looked anywhere but at the other two in the room. "I suppose it would have been fitting to die at the hands of those things."

Marius was stone-faced. "What else?"

"I was the main provider of portkeys. Contrary to what it says, the ministry can't actually track all portkey travel, unless the portkeys themselves are registered. That's why it's legally forbidden to make them without a license, or even know how to." He took a deep breath and let it out. "The Dark Lord also had me on healing duty. More importantly though, I was to perform reconnaissance from time to time because of my ability to silently apparate and wordlessly disillusion myself, which brings us to the big project I am -_was_- supposed to be working on right now."

Marius almost shrieked in shock when the wand on the nightstand next to him flew to Regulus with a casual wave of the latter's hand. "Watch," the Death Eater told them seriously, tracing shimmering blue symbols in the air. "This is the standard matrix for an anti-disapparition ward."

His heart calming, Marius started to recognize some of the runes. He'd been the one to create the writing on his welcome mat after all. He'd learned the subject matter as a hobby. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leona's smug look. She was reveling in being right about Regulus meaning them no harm.

"I can only perform some minor telekinesis wandlessly, in case you're wondering," Regulus told them, still writing in blue light in the air. "I suppose this is also where I say my warding is decent. There, finished! Now there is an anti-disapparition ward covering this area in a 20-meter diameter." The runes faded, and as they did, Regulus disappeared and a silent rush of air washed over the owners of the house.

But before it finished, a stronger and closer gust of air startled Marius enough to yelp and Leona enough to lean back in the chair abruptly and lose her balance.

Regulus snapped his hand forward and grabbed her by the forearm. "Easy." He was right in front of them now, sitting on the bed. By the time Leona was sitting safely again, and brought a hand over her racing heart, the young man had placed his wand back on the nightstand. "The Dark Lord asked me to find a way to bypass anti-apparition charms. I haven't managed what he wanted, but I did get to the point where I can apparate within the confines or out of an anti-disapparating jinx."

"Don't do that!" Marius finally snapped, finally over the lump in his throat that the earlier scare had left him with. "Or at least tell us first!" He huffed. "So... you're saying it's possible."

"Yes," Regulus said seriously. "I think the Dark Lord meant for me to find some sort of fast-casting counter-ward, or preventive wards or charms to cast on people, not to come up with a new way to apparate, but sometimes the first idea is the best."

"So, theoretically, what would it take?" Leona asked, finally calm herself.

"We add a fourth D to the three D's." Marius noted with some carefully hidden amusement that Regulus had entered some sort of lecturing mode. "The three D's of apparition are Destination, Determination and Deliberation. You must have determination to reach your destination and you must order your magic to take you there with utmost deliberation but no haste." With a rush of air he was on the other side of the bed again, making no pop nor crack. "To go through a ward, we need to fool it into thinking it's already repelled you, so we add an extra D before Deliberation: Dissimulation." Apparating again, he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Basically, you pretend to fail when you actually don't."

He stopped speaking and waited.

"Well, go on!" Marius said.

It was like the young man had forgotten about everything weighing on his mind for the purposes of that impromptu lesson. "Basically, you need to fool the ward into thinking it's already prevented you from apparating. I do it by creating an apparition effect and sending it out, in a sense, with _haste_ instead of deliberation." He looked for the best way to put it in words. "I suppose I... side-along apparate the air and fake an actual apparition less than a moment _before_ going through myself? And don't be fooled by how silent I am while doing it, and by the lack of special effects, that's actually a side-effect of the ward 'preventing' the transportation, the first one anyway. If I were to do this in normal conditions, the double apparitions would overlap and cause splinching as I arrive at the source. It would be very loud, though at least it would be possible to reattach severed body parts that way. Assuming I don't just end up whole but with my various body parts screwed on wrong. Or with air bubbles through my body, bloodstream included, and, thus, dead in moments."

It was times like this when Marius really, truly regretted he didn't have any magic of his own. He didn't completely understand the explanation, but the gist of it made a strange sort of sense. "So what can't you figure out about the anti-apparition ones?"

"A good substitute," with a silent swish, Regulus appeared mid-stride on the other side of the room, pacing. "The only reason my workaround works for anti-dsapparition wards is the fact that the first disapparition is completely nullified, so there is no second mass trying to rematerialize in the same spot as me." He pressed his index and middle fingers against his forehead. "Now, even under normal conditions, pulling the double apparition stunt outside anti-disapparition jinxes has high chances of me splinching or, magic forbid, rematerializing with my behind in front or some such abomination. Or as I said, with air in my blood or brain, which is lethal. The anti-apparition ward would not actually prevent both effects. Instead it would cause them to happen where I am _while_ trying to translocate there" He smiled wrily. "I need another way through.

"You mean create a pothole of sorts," Leona guessed. "To let you go through."

Regulus paused. "No." He looked at her. "Let me guess, you heard someone describe the feeling of apparition? Or you side-along apparated? How did they, or would you, describe the feeling."

"Like being squeezed through a very tight rubber tube." Her response was quick.

"And that is where the main misconception about apparition comes: that wizards somehow travel through a very tight 'apparition space' or some such nonsense." With a rush of air, he was sitting on the bed in front of them again. "That is not the case. Let me assure you that only goes for Flooing and portkeys. Apparition is when a wizard or magical creature stops existing in one place and resumes existence in another. The reason the feeling happens for most people is the fact that their magic isn't abundant enough to suffuse their entire bodies, so it squeezes them, for lack of a better word, into a small ball before getting them back to normal at their destination."

Marius looked at the young man calculatingly. "But you don't have this problem I take it?"

"I've apparated a lot." He made a strange, lazy wave with his hand. "And I also meditated on becoming one with my magic during my school years. My magic is quite evenly spread through my body. It's part of why I can do the little wandless magic you saw, and why I can apparate like this even though I should be bed ridden." He smiled, but turned serious. "It's also why splinching doesn't actually bleed like normal injuries. The magic fails to translocate all of you, but it still 'sees' you as a whole person, which is why the body parts left behind stay suspended until they get reattached or are damaged by outside causes."

"I see," Leona was thoughtful. "I suppose you're saying there is no actual barrier at work here?"

"There is a reason warders have different names for anti-apparition and anti-disapparition wards. The former defines an area where no one is allowed to resume existence." He answered. "The latter essentially forces the wizard to splinch 100%, each and every time. _All_ of you fails to translocate within the confines of an anti-disapparition jinx. There is no actual bubble barrier different from the inside of the ward per se, but the way the splinching happens does differ from normal. When trying to disapparate within the ward, you are prevented from dematerializing. When you want to apparate into an anti-_apparition_ ward from outside of it, nothing is stopping you from dematerializing, but it does prevent you from _re_materializing in your intended location."

Marius wondered if Regulus realized how long-winded his explanations were.

"So far, I've managed to find a workaround for anti-disapparition jinxes, but anti-apparition wards like the ones ancient wizarding homes have are trickier. Wizards _can_ disapparate from them so long as their rematerialization point is outside the ward, and if there is no anti-disapparition ward overlapping it, which there usually, but that's besides the point. Ideally, being keyed to the wards solves all problems, but we're talking about hostile takeovers here." Absentmindedly, Regulus took his wand and walked to where he'd drawn the ward.

Marius let him.

"Save for basically ordering magic itself to change its rules just to let you pass into an anti-aparition ward," with flicks of his wand, he began to unravel the ward, "which no one has managed that I know of," the blue runes kept appearing and fading one by one, "there is no way to just pop in like the Dark Lord wants. None that I can see at the moment." With a final flick, the ward was down and Regulus was pensive as he studied his wand. "It's probably for the best."

"So why didn't you disapparate away from the cave if you can actually do all this?" Leona hit the nail on the head.

"Besides the fact that my magic was out of whack and I was in enough agony that I would have probably left my stomach behind?" The retort was almost as dry as the Sahara desert. "I was bereft enough of a clear head that it completely slipped my mind. And I even cursed the dark lord for installing anti-disapparition wards. Maybe it was something in the potion that made you think of nothing but wanting to drink something? I didn't even _consider_ disapparating for some reason, even after I _saw_ Kreacher doing it. And I could have done it wandlessly too, unlike most people, which makes that whole situation of me thinking I was trapped even more ridiculous."

Regulus didn't return his wand to the night stand next to the bed, but he did put it on the chest of drawers before returning to the bed. Eventually, he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress again.

They all stayed like that for a while, saying nothing.

Eventually though, someone had to break the silence, and Marius was surprised to hear Regulus do it. "You should probably call the aurors now."

His words had been quiet, but the silence made them transmit clearly.

"Let's not do anything rash," Leona sighed.

"Don't start!" Regulus actually did a good job of putting on a facade of conviction. Nonetheless, Marius could tell it was faked. "There is no other option that would spare you from trouble! If you harbor me and the Dark Lord is vanquished, the Ministry will be after you for harboring a Death Eater. If the Dark Lord wins, he'll torture and eventually murder you for supporting my defection!"

To which, naturally, Leona answered with a line that proved she would have been Ravenclaw material if she'd been a witch and gone to Hogwarts rather than Beaubaxtons. "If the Dark Lord wins, he'll be after us because we're squibs and live as muggles. If he loses, you can just pop over and turn yourself in if you really want to. In either case, the only way either party will find out you were or are here is if one of us three tells them."

Regulus huffed and muttered something under his breath.

Marius hid his amusement. "Besides," he knew it was a risk saying it, but he figured one more couldn't do much harm. "If you _really_ wanted to 'protect us,' if it can even be called that, and/or turn yourself in, you could easily just apparate away and maybe obliviate us just to be safe."

"My memory charms aren't the best," the teenager groaned, much to Marius's surprise. "I'm not skilled enough to selectively erase memories. I'd have to wipe your memory of the entire past three days, which would raise lots of questions all on its own." He looked up at them, pondering. "Actually, all three of us will be screwed if any legilimens takes a peek in your heads and sees this conversation, and anything of the past few days for that matter."

"If anyone like that turns up, it will probably be the Dark Lord or some lackey of his and we'd be doomed anyway."

Regulus hesitated. "Dumbledore is a legilimens as well."

"Well, if the leader of the light won't have a better deal for us than what you're imagining," Marius countered, "then he probably doesn't deserve to be called the leader of the light."

The young man scoffed. "There's a reason some families are staying neutral you know." He shook his head. "Other than the lack of occasional torture, Dumbledore leads his followers the exact same way as the Dark Lord does." Marius stared, dumbfounded. "He hoards his knowledge, maneuvers everything to go his way and does all he can to have complete control over the people on his side. The bad part is that, even though he probably means well, he is, in the end, just as big a manipulator and as control-obsessed as the Dark Lord is."

"How can you know?' Leona asked. "You can't have had much contact with him."

The Death Eater put his hands on his knees, still cross-legged on the bed. "He is too old to change from what he was like during school, and I saw enough then to realize what he is like. More importantly, the inner circle was gathered once to recount everything we knew and all contact we had with Dumbledore during our lives. One particular story stands out, involving Severus Snape, my brother and his friends."

"Snape and the so-called Marauders, those being James Potter, Sirius, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, were mortal enemies almost as soon as they started school. In my fifth year, Severus learned of how bad things had gotten between Sirius and our parents and used that to goad him into a confrontation. Snape had suspicions that Lupin was a werewolf, and angered Sirius into confirming where his friend hid during the full moon."

"Snape wanted to know how to get past the Womping Willow in order to get to Lupin during his transformation and either kill him or expose him to the school. Sirius told him. I think Snape hoped to use that to later say Sirius tired to arrange for his death at the hands of Lupin. Sirius... I don't think he actually expected Severus to have the nerve to go, and I agree it was stupid that Snape did. He was mistaken to think the timid attitude of the human would transfer to the wolf. On the other hand, I doubt my brother would have minded if Lupin killed him. Either way, Snape went and almost got himself torn to pieces. James Potter found out what Sirius had done and managed to saved Severus before Lupin hacked him."

"Now you might be wondering where I am going with this," Regulus paused. "The whole mess reached Dumbledore of course, and the man completely saw through everything. I am sure he's been holding that mess over Sirius' head ever since, guilt tripping him whenever he feels it would help. But that's a side note. What really got to me was that he basically forced Snape to keep quiet about it by implying, clearly enough, that he knew Snape was out there fully intent on murder and/or getting Sirius expelled and his wand snapped, and maybe Lupin executed for killing someone as a werewolf. The thread hanging over his head ever since was clear: say anything, and the school, including childhood friend and unrequited love Lily Evans, now Potter, would know about him trying to engineer the death or disgrace of one or two other students. "

The two elder blacks didn't comment.

"But there's another thing." Regulus passed his hand through his hair. "The Dark Lord has basically been treating this war as a competition of sorts, between himself and Dumbledore. And there was not even _one_ instance where he was caught by surprise. Dumbledore has been predicting him, just like he's been predicting Dumbledore, and that can only happen if both of them think _the exact same way_. And make no mistake," Regulus said darkly "Dumbledore's side is _losing_ because the Headmaster, who keeps refusing to become minister for some reason, is purely reactive. And his habit of manipulating things is so ingrained that he doesn't even consider that it might be wrong to do it, or that there are better alternatives."

"What are you trying to say?" Marius asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself."

Another long silence.

"So what now?" Leona finally stated the conversation again, looking a bit shaken.

Marius spoke before Regulus had the chance to. "Well, first off, we need to know what the situation is before any of us _do_ anything." He put a finger on his chin. "You've been missing for three days by now. Someone's bound to have noticed."

Regulus looked at him and seemed to carry out an internal debate. "I can get us started on that." Standing up, he backed off and faced them from across the room and clearly called out. "Kreacher!"

A moment, nothing happened, but then a crack sounded and there was an old, wizened house elf in the middle of the dormitory. "Who calls Kreacher?" It was a rude muttering, but the small thing choked on his next grumblings. "Who- Master..." It was almost heartbreaking to hear that broken voice. "Master Regulus... called?" The tone was sheer disbelief.

The young man smiled fondly down at him. "Hello Kreacher. Glad to see-" but he was interrupted when the small thing barreled into him and hugged his legs, well on the way to sobbing his tennis ball-sized eyes out. "-you're alright..."

"Master's alive! Master's alive!" the house elf just said that, over and over, rubbing his face into the wizard's already sodden knees.

Regulus looked at his relatives helplessly for a while.

"We's thought you dead!" Kreacher choked out. "Everyone thought Master Regulus dead! Master Regulus turned into a skull on the family tapestry." The pillowcase he wore basically shook from his sobs. "Mistress Black was so upset that she didn't even notice Kreacher didn't offer to be beheaded and mounted on the wall to cheer her up!" It would have been ridiculous enough to warrant guffaws if the matter wasn't so serious.

Regulus disentangled Kreacher from his legs but instead of saying anything, got to his knees and pulled the quivering thing into a soft hug. "There there Kreacher, it's alright now, I'm fine, see?" With his chin on the top of the elf's head, he whispered soothing words until the poor elf stopped shaking.

But then the elf just started sobbing like mad again. "Kreacher failed! Kreacher did all he could but failed to destroy the locket! Kreacher failed master Regulus!"

"Shh. It's okay, we'll figure something out later. You will not punish yourself for this, understood?"

The house elf nodded tearfully, face still buried in his soaked shirt. "Master Regulus is always too kind to Kreacher."

Both Marius and his wife were standing now. He had observed that interaction impassively, on the outside, but a big knot seemed to loosen in his chest as he saw who he used to think was a heartless Death Eater comfort that distraught creature. If that boy had enough compassion for something wizards usually considered beneath them, maybe it was right not to turn him in after all.

The elder black tilted his head as a plan started to form. He'd have to run it by his wife later, but he knew the core of it was solid.

"Warms your heart doesn't it?" Leona murmured.

Marius's lips twitched. "You know, the many different ways you have of saying 'I told you so' aren't why I married you," he whispered back.

"I know," she said, face smug. "Won't make me give up that side of me though."

"Don't remind me."

At long last, Kreacher was calm. Regulus pulled away and actually wiped the tears off the elf's face before standing and motioning for the elf to turn around. "Kreacher, I want you to meet the masters of this house."

The elf looked at them with suspicion, even somewhat maliciously. It made Marius' hackles rise, but didn't prevent him from noticing the protective position the tiny thing had taken, right between them and his master. "What is Master Regulus doing with filthy rejects?"

"Kreacher!" Regulus snapped, making the elf flinch. "These are my great uncle Marius and my great aunt by marriage Leona. As I said, they are the masters of this house and you _will_ treat them with the respect due to any Paterfamilias and Matriarch, especially while under their roof."

Kreacher stance became somewhat less hostile but his antagonistic expression didn't change. "Kreacher will do as master Regulus commands." But he also muttered to himself "Kreacher will have to check for mind altering potions or spells as soon as possible."

"Kreacher..." The Black scion seemed to experience a sort of fond exasperation. "I didn't call you before because the Dark Lord's inferi almost killed me." Kreacher turned a panicked gaze on him but Regulus motioned towards the other two humans. "The only reason I'm alive and not in a ministry holding cell or the Dark Lord's tender mercies is because they hid me and nursed me back to health as they would one of their own."

The raggedly dressed house elf looked at them with none of the previous ire, though his eyes still retained some shade of suspicion. "Kreacher supposes they are tolerable then," then muttered "for a pair of useless family rejects."

Regulus sighed in defeat and threw them a sheepish look. "Sorry about him. He picked up the muttering habit from mother and the way he views non-purebloods and squibs, well..." he shrugged helplessly. "I suppose it wouldn't really help to mention that some wizards are just as bad?"

"Only if you think it will help if I say I don't find your comforting of him so reassuring anymore after hearing his... opinions," Marius deadpanned.

The young wizard chuckled softly. "Fair enough." Moving to scratch his own chin, he gazed at Kreacher who was looking back devotedly. "Kreacher... did mother ask you if you know anything about what happened to me?"

"She did." The elf began to rub the carpet with his toe.

"What did you tell her?"

The elf made as if to fiddle with the edge of his pillow case but stopped. "Kreacher said that Master Regulus ordered Kreacher not to say anything because of something to do with the Dark Lord. Kreacher had to crush his fingers in the doorframe of the boiler room where he sleeps for having to disobey a direct order to talk given by Mistress Black."

Regulus rubbed his face tiredly, then gestured for his wand to fly into his hand, which it did. "Show me."

"Master Regulus needn't fuss," Kreacher hid his hands behind his back, which coincidentally placed them well within Marius and Leona's line of sight. They didn't seem to be deformed, but the brownish tint of the otherwise pale skin must have been what passed for bruising on elves. The signs suggested they _had_ been broken and bent unnaturally at some point in the recent past. Leona silently exited the room as the small being spoke again. "Kreacher has had two days to recover."

"Kreacher," Regulus ground out warningly.

The elf meekly held out his hands, which Regulus hadn't gotten a clear view of until then. Giving the impression he'd done the exact same thing in the past, or something similar, he began waving his wand over the long, wiry fingers. White and blue light kept misting from the wand tip into the flesh periodically. Here was the reason he'd studied healing in the first place.

After a couple of minutes, he was finished. "I mended your bones, but the bruising has had too much time to set in and I haven't developed a spell that will work on House elves as it would for wizards. And I don't have any paste for it right now."

"Ahem," Leona was back. She tossed a small jar that Regulus managed to snatch from the air. "As far as I know, it should work on house elves just fine."

With a grateful look, the young man uncapped the jar and carefully began to spread the paste over the fingers of the now very subdued house elf. Marius didn't know if Kreacher was wary of the paste for coming from "rejects" (which he assumed meant squibs) or because the elf was embarrassed at being fussed over in the presence of other people.

Finally, Regulus removed the paste left on his own fingers with a cleaning charm and waved his wand over Kreacher hands, casting a glamour that made it seem as though the bruises were still very much there. "Okay... that should do it." After a moment, he remembered what they were all talking about before they got sidetracked. With a sheepish grin, he addressed his relatives. "Sorry, I got a bit distracted I suppose..."

"It's fine," Marius waved his concern away, looking at Kreacher intensely. To his satisfaction, the elf seemed uncomfortable after a while. "Your little friend here actually gave me an idea."

"A good one I hope?"

"Yes. How sure can you be he will keep your secrets?"

"Kreacher will never betray Master Regulus!" The elf was the embodiment of indignation at having his loyalty questioned.

"Even to your Mistress?" Marius challenged.

The elf actually hesitated, but then raised his chin high. "Kreacher will have to punish himself for lying to Mistress Black if she asks things Kreacher promises not to tell, but Kreacher will always serve Master Regulus first."

The older man looked at the wizard for confirmation, which was given with a small nod. Before he could speak though, Kreacher stiffened.

"Mistress Black calls."

"Go to her then, but tell her nothing of what you saw or learned here. Actually, don't even mention that I called you, or that I'm not really dead. I'll call you later."

Kreacher bobbed his head but spared one last look at the masters of the house. "Kreacher will know who to come after if master Regulus is hurt while staying here." Then, with a snap of his now healed fingers, he was gone.

"A positively _endearing_ fellow," Marius said, barefaced.

"So, what were you going to say?" Regulus seemed a bit distracted for some reason.

"Here," the woman of the household cut in, moving forward and handing a cup of steaming tea. "As I remember, you never did accept that drink Marius offered."

Regulus laughed nervously and drunk half the cup in one gulp. He must have really been thirsty, but the excitement of explaining his theories about apparition managed to overcome it for a while.

"Now," Leona sounded quite pleased with herself. "You look tired. Maybe you should sleep a bit more before we decide anything else, hmm?"

Regulus opened his mouth but his legs decided to go weak at that exact moment. Leona helped steady him, and walk him to the bed. Again. The young man covered the distance while becoming more and more outraged. By the end, he tried to sputter something but didn't manage to string even one word together.

Seeing that he was getting the eyebrow, Marius shook his head and started to tuck in the now soundly sleeping lad properly. "Sleeping potion in the tea?"

His wife inclined her head like it was the most obvious thing. "Of course. After all, it's better to give you time to run your idea through me before you expose that poor young man to it."

The man with greying hair laughed, for the first time relaxed in three days. "I think I might have come up with one even you won't have to rephrase into something less shocking."

"-. .-"

Over the course of the seven years that muggleborn wizards and witches spend at Hogwarts, the topic of muggles versus wizards comes up at least once, because the wizards can't help but gloat about their perceived superiority to muggles, and muggleborns can't help but get outraged on behalf of their forebears. The ensuing debates are always heated, with neither side giving in. If anyone on either side ever reaches the correct conclusion, it's never earlier than several years after the fact. Also, if either side ever sees the simple truth, chances are it won't be the wizards, and not for the reasons people might expect.

The truth of the matter is that, between muggles and wizards, the latter are the only ones with a chance to ensure a victory that doesn't qualify as pyrrhic, for a very simple reason: muggle-repelling and notice-me-not charms.

Young muggleborn witches and wizards always say how destructive muggle weapons are, especially bombs and tanks. They also say that wizards, on some level, know they would stand no chance against muggles seeing as how they chose to hide themselves from them, and so thoroughly, hundreds of years in the past when technology wasn't even close to where it is today. Then there is the immense number of muggles compared to witches and wizards.

What usually escapes those young people, besides the fact that shield charms can stop bullets just fine, is that it doesn't matter how good a weapon is if you can't aim it. A simple notice-me-not charm will make even the best assassin or special agent look past a magical person or place as though he, she or it wasn't even there, regardless of distance. Satellite imagery _would _work in identifying strange communities around the world, if said communities didn't have illusions conveniently masking them. Even in absence of those illusions, the usefulness of satellites would be limited, since no muggle can actually see or enter a magical, warded community unless a magical is with them.

The only way muggles would "win" a war, so to speak (and it wouldn't get rid of all the magicals living in random neighborhoods across the world, or in the middle of nowhere) would be to run over entire towns and cities with out-of-control tanks, or bombard the magical enclaves around the world from afar, with satellite-guided missiles or some such thing, provided they ever learn where they all are.

The _little_ problem there would be that most such centers are straight in the middle of large muggle cities, so the outraged muggles would have to be ready to destroy their own government bodies and economic centers just to kill a few hundred magicals. They could, in theory, move house somewhere else, as impractical as it sounds, but wizards would be hard-pressed not to notice and get the reasons out of relevant muggles through legilimency, veritaserum or the much simpler option of compulsion charms.

The scenarios go on and on, but they are ultimately moot, because the simple fact is that wizards will never let things go that far. A nice tracking charm on all relevant figures of authority instigating conflict, followed by apparition and memory charms or assassination made to look like an accident (a tripping hex while walking down a flight of stairs), as dictated by the situation, can make sure nothing comes of any anti-wizard movements capable of endangering the secret of the magical world's existence.

All because of a charm that makes non-magical people remember they had something to do at home if they come close enough, or causes them to just pass by as though nothing strange was afoot.

Like how the postman just ignored the very out of place fenced-off side-alley next to Number 8 Sunshine Road, Greater Whinging, Surrey. Like everyone living in that cul-de-sac, except those at Number 2, always did the same. As though the fences three times taller than the ones in the rest of the neighborhood weren't even there.

And, more importantly, as though a man and a woman hadn't suddenly appeared from thin air there, with cracks of displaced air, just as the postman was waltzing by. "Amazing how different the weather here is compared to London," the man said after the mailman was gone, gazing at the clear, bright blue sky that shared the color of his irises .

Many would say the dirty-blond, pot-bellied man wouldn't have the right to such a beautiful wife, with her long, flowing black hair, violet eyes and figure so perfect that she would have looked stunning even without the wavy, dark blue, angle-length silk dress and elbow-length gloves adorning her. Her suede and velvet boots tapped softly on the asphalt as she walked over to accept her husband's offered arm. "Well, I assume it is called _Sunshine_ Road for a reason?"

If the man was aware of how outshined he was by his wife, even in his finely-cut suit and bow tie, he didn't show it. He smiled, reveling in the sound of her voice and led her out of the apparition spot and onto the sidewalk.

They trailed after the postman, showing no signs that they might be in a hurry. They'd been told, on the phone, to come quickly but no more obtrusively or unobtrusively than usual, so the couple advanced casually, smiling and politely greeting the people on the porches of their respective homes or in their front yards, or walking down the same sidewalk as they. They were every bit the middle-aged couple coming to visit family in the area.

The wizard's smile wouldn't have had to be faked if the sight of the oblivious postman hadn't dredged up that grim train of thought about war. This place seemed, _was_ he corrected himself, so peaceful, as though the war tearing the wizarding world apart wasn't even happening. He had to admire the muggle media's ability to spin tales. If the people really knew how many gas explosions, acts of vandalism, deaths by "natural causes" and muggings were really the aftermath of Voldemort's muggle hunts...

While muggles didn't really have any way of going against wizards without collateral damage and exposing the existence of the magical world, the same could not be said for wizards themselves. Especially self-styled Dark Lords with a worse case of bigotry than Hitler.

Feeling a gentle squeeze on his forearm broke his train of thought. The man couldn't have been more glad that his wife was there in that moment, or more grateful to her for not saying anything.

Eventually, they reached Number 2 and passed through the small, waist-high gate. A short walk got them beyond the front yard and up the front steps. Next to him, the beautiful witch smiled in amusement at reading the runes on the welcome mat, like she did every time they came to visit.

Reaching forward, the wizard rung the doorbell.

They didn't have to wait long. After less than half a minute, the door opened to reveal both masters of the house. "Ted." Marius stepped forward and shook his hand firmly. "Glad you could come on such short notice. I hope I didn't interrupt anything when I called?"

"Not at all," the wizard assured him, stepping aside and allowing Marius Black to embrace his niece.

"Theodore," Leona greeted, allowing Ted to place a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "Hello Andromeda," the two women greeted each other wish a kiss on each other's cheeks. "Please come in. We were able to prepare some tea in the living room."

"Tea would be lovely," Andromeda said.

"As long as it's no bother," Ted agreed. "You made it sound like you had something urgent to talk about though?"

"We do," Marius confirmed after closing the door and locking it, giving his two guests a long look. "I think we'll need some privacy spells for this."

Theodore and Andromeda Tonks frowned but produced wands from arm holsters than neither Leona nor Marius had seen until then. "Should we place them here on the front entrance or just in the living room?"

The two hosts exchanged a silent look, before replying in unison. "Both."

Ten minutes later, the interior of the house was as impossible to spy from the outside as those within could make it, and the four people had each taken a cup of tea to help themselves relax before jumping into the heart of the matter.

"Right, now what's this all about?" Ted asked, bringing his cup to his lips.

Marius answered him but looked straight at Andromeda as he did, face completely blank. "The Death Eater sleeping in the guest bedroom upstairs."

Ted's tea was wholly sacrificed to the gods of the spittake.

Andromeda Tonks _nee_ Black, however, was much more composed. A delicate eyebrow was the only change on her otherwise mildly intrigued face as she leaned back on the couch, completely ignoring her husband who was gasping for air, doing all he could to get the liquid out of his lungs. "And who might this Death Eater be that you felt you had to call us instead of, oh, the _aurors_ perhaps?"

Leona elegantly partook of her tea before replying. "Your cousin."

Andromeda stared.

Then, slowly, with very deliberate movements, she pulled her wand out and took down two of the privacy charms. "Homenum Revelio."

By then, Ted had finally settled down and cast the spell himself, finding that, indeed, only one other person was in the house. "Okay," coughing a few more times, he sent a cleaning charm at the table, then one at the floor and, finally, one at himself, getting rid of the spilled tea. That done, he returned his wand to its holster and leaned forward. "Spill."

"-. .-"

Regulus shot awake when he felt an anti-disapparition ward slamming on top of him. He was only dimly aware of the blanket still fluttering through the air as it fell next to the bed as he reached out and called his wand to his hand before even asking himself if he should still expect to have it nearby.

Oak, 13 and a half inches, with a core of unicorn hair. Solid, excellent for charms. It hummed for a moment before settling like a natural extension of his fingers. "Homenum revelio." Regulus almost started swearing when information entered his mind and he detected four people on the property. He bit back a curse and decided to be quiet.

For all of ten seconds before he realized the foreign magical signatures were in the same room as his relatives.

A Gryffindor would have charged down the stairs, blasted the doors open with a Confrigo, summoned or banished his relatives out of the way and started firing curses at whoever else was inside.

Regulus was not a Gryffindor, which meant there was no _way_ he would do that... without a _plan._

The young ex-Death Eater thought furiously, fighting down the bubbling panic, hoping against hope his thinking wouldn't be interrupted by screams of agony.

He summoned the first thing that came into view. A pair of slacks? Was he supposed to change into those? No matter. "Portus." Summoning the shirt on the same chair, he turned it into another portkey and fooled the ward, apparating in the middle of the hallway on the ground floor, right in front of the closed double doors leading to the living room. His wand was already half-way through the motions of a silencing bubble, which he coated the entire hallway in before- "Confrigo!"

The doors were violently blasted off their hinges with a loud _smash_ that would not be heard outside, and Regulus apparated in their wake just a split-second after them. 11 seconds. "Arresto Momentum!" The doors slowed down until they stopped in mid-air in the middle of the room. No sense in hitting his relatives if they were inside. 10 seconds. "Accio Marius!" 9 seconds.

The startled elder man cried out in shock as he was pulled from his armchair through the air as though a lasso had caught him around the midriff. He landed on his backside -7 seconds- with an "Oomph!" right behind the traitor Death Eater, but before he could say anything, the portkey pantaloons were in his face.

"Activate!" Regulus shouted, and Marius disappeared with a rush of air, never getting a chance to say whatever he was about to.

5 seconds.

"Regulus, wai-" but Leona didn't get to say anything either as the shirt was banished right in her face and she was whisked away in the same manner.

3 seconds.

"Depulso!" Regulus banished the still floating doors across the room on pure principle. If there were two Death Eaters here (and it could only be Death Eaters, because those two had made it plain they wouldn't be calling the Aurors), they were probably inner circle members like him, so he may as well shout the spells aloud to make them focus on him rather than anything else.

A shield charm met one of the doors and stopped it, leaving it to slam against the rug on the floor with a dull thud. The other one met the fireplace and smashed apart the photo frames on top. Distortions in the air told him the two were disillusioned. One of them had thrown him- or herself to the ground.

After tracing a zig-zag through the air, he swung his wand in a wide flourish. "Hominis revelio!" It was a variation of the Homenum revelio that cancelled most concealing charms.

1 second.

The disillusionment dropped and there was a familiar woman standing in front of him, on the other side of the door that was now lying useless on the mat. The feet sticking out from behind the couch must have belonged to a man, given the type of pant legs and the shoes. "We surrender!" He yelled, and there was suddenly a stick waving a white flag through the air. "We give up! We came here in peace! Really!"

Regulus was stumped and felt his jaw dropping ever so slightly, before he shut it with a dull clamp.

The wide-eyed but nonetheless alert woman did not lower her wand, but she did look quite nonplussed. "I'm assuming the portkeys that took Marius and Leona away are the Slytherin part of your plan?"

The young Death Eater stared. "Andromeda?" He could have sworn she was Bellatrix for a second there.

The man risked poking his head from behind the couch, still holding up the white flag. "Er... I'm assuming that we should have probably _asked_ for a demonstration of your ward bypassing apparition skills _before_ setting it up?"

"Oh, you _think?_ " Regulus snapped, though he still kept his wand on Andromeda. "What the hell are you trying to pull here? I'm guessing you're Theodore?"

Andromeda quirked an eyebrow and lowered her wand slightly. "Having tea?" She gestured at the table with the tea set that had miraculously escaped the short-lived chaos. "And yes, that _is_ my husband you are yelling at."

Regulus only had the grace to grimace for a moment. "Well he deserves it if he thinks I'll believe this all is _just_ a misunderstanding."

Ted actually looked embarrassed. "Sorry sorry. We, well _I _since this was mostly my idea, figured that your reaction to this would tell us if you've really come around."

The youngest person in the room dissected the statement. "Because the Dark Lord always starts his raids on magical dwellings and targets this way, and you wanted to see if I'd come to their rescue."

"Got it in one!" Ted beamed, thought he still had the white flag out. "I didn't think you'd actually come blasting through though, or that you'd do it so fast."

"Oh, leave the poor boy alone Ted," Andromeda chided him, relaxing and putting her wand away. "He was fast asleep after being dosed with a potion. _No one_ can think clearly in such a situation. It's amazing he actually stopped to think about the portkeys." A beat, and the woman was looking at Regulus again. "Where _did_ you send them? Can they even come back?" She looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't send them to some god forsaken shack in the middle of the sea, did you?"

Regulus felt himself redden and groaned, palming his face.

"You _did_!" Ted's shock could have been real or fake. The teenager couldn't tell.

Sighing, Regulus conjured a piece of rope. "Late uncle Alphard's deserted shack is the only thing that popped into my mind, okay? Portus. Oh, and they _can_ come back. There's a little boat they can use to come to shore, and I'm _sure_ muggles have _some_ means of transportation. It's only a few dozen miles away, just off the coast." He tossed the portkey to Andromeda, to cover for the fact that even he knew the excuse was lame. "You go get them while I repair this mess." He looked around, feeling awkward. "Or try..."

Andromeda eyed the rope warily. "What's the activation code?"

"God forsaken shack," Regulus answered absently as he started sending _Reparo_ all over the place. Wordlessly. "Say 'curse-happy' when you're ready to come back."

Regulus didn't see the look that passed between the two older wizards before Andromeda portkeyed away.

After a few more _Reparos_, Regulus faced the fireplace again and sent a levitation charm at the door he'd thrown into it. When it was in the air, ready to be moved back in place, the former Death Eater met the eyes of the muggleborn wizard, and there was no trace left of the jolly, easy-going man anymore. It made Regulus freeze in his casting and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. If he didn't feel the complete lack of Legilimency probe, he would even have been willing to believe his mind was being dissected. Even Marius hadn't stared so deeply into him, and their conversation hadn't exactly been about light topics.

Regulus began to feel that maybe he should release the levitation spell and ready himself to retaliate.

But no attack came. "So, I hear you're interested in healing."

And just like that, the spell, pun or otherwise, was broken, and the jovial Ted Tonks was back. "Huh?" Regulus said intelligently.

Ted joined in and levitated the other door. "Well I _am_ a healer with my own clinic that caters to both magical and non-magical folk, see? But it's getting ever so _frustrating_ without an assistant. Andromeda used to help, but she's busy with Nymphadora these days." Since Regulus had stopped moving again in favor of staring, the other wizard began the painstaking task of putting the door back in its hinges. "And since you won't really have that much to do..."

"Except going into hiding because everyone thinks I'm dead," Regulus slipped into his pureblood prince drawl. "And the same everyone will be after my head, for different reasons, if they learn I'm not dead. If the employment offer was your idea of a joke, it was a poor one."

Ted said nothing more, so they worked in silence until Andromeda, Leona and Marius portkeyed back into the room.

The two masters of the house looked around and seemed pleasantly surprised to find even the picture frames back where they were supposed to be, completely intact. "Well, at least we won't have to call our insurance company and say someone broke into our house." Marius paused. "And blew up the whole living room without anyone in the neighborhood hearing. An without using any explosives. And without coming through the door. In broad daylight. And with us inside." Another pause. "Somehow."

"Okay okay, I get it!" Regulus grumbled, throwing himself into one of the armchairs. "Rub it in, why don't you?"

"Come now, Marius," Leona admonished him good-naturedly, sitting next to her husband on the other side of the tea table. "He _did_ blast in, wand-blazing, just to rescue us. I believe that deserves at least some praise."

The man of the house heaved a tragic sigh. "I suppose you're right." Regulus noticed the odd looks that everyone was throwing the lawyer, but he had no way of understanding them, because he did not know that Marius Black never actually joked so freely. As many things as he was, _carefree _was not one of them.

Since everyone was quietly waiting for him to speak, the solicitor leaned forward and pinned the not-so-dead wizard with a piercing stare. "Regulus, what do you know about the witness protection program?"

"-. .-"

In the end, he didn't get entered into the witness protection program. Ted actually shot down the idea from the very start. Marius was going to try and call in some favors, but Ted sensibly pointed out that Regulus wasn't involved in any cases, especially none he managed.

That was when Ted surprised everyone by saying he could have a completely new identity made for Regulus by calling in some of his _own_ favors with some "acquaintances" from London. Andromeda seemed to be the only one who had any idea what he was talking about, and the healer didn't explain anything when asked about it.

They decided not to tell anyone outside the five of them about any of this, not even the elder Potters, though Regulus had had to argue a lot about not wanting there to be any chance for Sirius to find out about it just yet.

It had taken a couple of months for the paperwork to be ready, time which Regulus spent reading books that he'd gotten from the Black family library via Kreacher, learning about the muggle world from Leona, or from Marius when he wasn't working (the trip to the multi-floor department store with the both of them had left him reeling for _hours_), delving into Muggle education, and occasionally practicing healing magic, and even muggle CPR and treatment methods with Ted.

He also kept up with the happenings in the Wizarding World, by getting news from Ted (and reading his Daily Prophet) and asking Kreacher what had been happening at Grimmauld Place (not much of relevance). In the end though, Regulus felt he got more information on Voldemort's activities from watching the news on television (that had to be the best invention muggles ever made). Some of the "small disasters" or "tragedies" reported through that strange box had "Voldemort was here" written all over them.

Through it all, the former Death Eater was amazed at the amount of relief that accompanied his acceptance of this new life. He didn't miss his old "home" at all, and Marius and Andromeda were all the family he needed, though they did make him feel really stupid very early on. Or rather Andromeda did, when she casually used the word "horcruxes" while discussing Regulus' defection. Horcruxes. As in _plural_. She just didn't see a reason _not_ to assume the Dark Lord didn't make more than one, insane as he was.

It made him literally bash his forehead against the table.

Repeatedly.

Add another reason to agree it was stupid of him to go off on his own without telling anyone about his findings. It was so obvious too. Voldemort claimed he'd become immortal a much longer time before he came to get Kreacher. The locket was probably just the most recent of those wretched things.

The only thing he didn't do, despite wanting to, was contact Sirius. He'd shot down the suggestion himself when Andromeda offered to arrange a meeting. As much as he loved his brother, he didn't trust him not to tell Dumbledore, and that old man's manipulative ways were something he wanted to be well away from. Regulus had no illusions the man could get the law off him, but he'd definitely expect to follow his orders without question instead.

The idea of a meeting was still on the back burner, but he would put it off for a while. Best not to upset Sirius' life more than it already was, especially now that he'd become a junior Hit Wizard (apprenticed to Mad-Eye Moody of all people). In the meantime, he would try to find out more about Voldemort, if only because "know your enemy" was a universally sound advice.

He initially wanted to go to the village of Little Hangleton and see what he could find out about the Riddle family. Voldemort had gathered his Death Eaters in Riddle Manor on many occasions. He didn't know of any Wizarding family called Riddle, and he suspected the family had changed its name at some point in history, to escape retribution or maybe a blood feud. He knew the Gaunts used to live nearby, and he'd have asked them about the matter if they hadn't all been murdered years before.

He'd have gone snooping around, to ask the locals if nothing else, but Marius and Leona had talked him out of it, saying that it would be just his luck for a Death Eater to be there and recognize him.

But then Ted had shown up, said he'd had his London "acquaintances" check the history of the Riddle family, and dropped a literal bomb: Riddle was not a wizarding family. It had always been a normal, albeit rather wealthy, family of muggles in the area. The last known Riddle, Tom, had died in 1943. Further inquiries into the name Riddle revealed that a Tom Marvolo Riddle later grew up in an orphanage and then "attended a school for the gifted" in Scotland between 1938-1945, after which he seemed to disappear from the grid.

Regulus had stared at the papers and Ted, then Ted and the papers, in shock for at least ten minutes. The Dark Lord, who spouted pureblood propaganda like it was divine nectar, was the half-blood bastard of a muggle and the near-squib Merope Gaunt, who'd died right after dumping her son at a dreary muggle orphanage.

The Scion of the House of Black _almost_ felt sorry for the Death Eaters. _Almost_. He wondered how the purebloods would take it if they learned, especially since it would disprove the whole idea of power being tied to blood purity, with Voldermort being a half-blood squibspawn and everything. At least they had an excuse in that Voldemort had modified the Riddle Manor enough that it wasn't so obviously muggle anymore.

The door bell rang.

Regulus stood from his chair on the back porch and went inside. Marius was at his practice and Leona was visiting a neighbor to exchange gardening ideas. A silent spell turned the door transparent from his side for a moment, enough to see who was on the other. Hs eyebrows went up when he saw Ted, alone, but he opened the door anyway. "What was the first thing Andromeda told me the second time she visited here after I showed up."

"That she was surprised you didn't start calling her Andy yet." Well, that proved he wasn't someone under a polyjuce disguise. "And why don't you?"

That was Ted's part. Regulus asked something only the real Ted would know how to answer, and Ted would ask something he wanted to know but hadn't asked Regulus yet. It was a tactic all of them used, and it had been Ted's suggestion, of all people. Mad-Eye Moody would have been _so_ proud. "I like names being uttered fully, thank you very much, rather than being butchered as though you can't be bothered to remember or pronounce them all the way."

"I can imagine why you and Sirius always got along so splendidly," Ted said drily, following Regulus in the sitting room. "I hear he used to call you Reggie?"

"Ha-ha." The now 19 year-old resident of Number 2 Sunshine Road poured two glasses of muggle beer and sat down.

Rather than pick up his own glass, Ted tossed a file over. The yellow-brown cardboard envelope slid to a halt in front of the younger wizard. "Congratulations. You are now Arcturus Black, long-lost son of Marius Black and Leona Black nee de Leon, who they never saw again after you were stolen from the Manchester Bridgewater Hospital maternity ward by a woman who'd gone mad with grief after giving birth to a stillborn. A few weeks later said woman, still unidentified, got her wits back, or lost the ones she still had, and abandoned you in an orphanage in Manchester where you lived until the age of sixteen, when you had to leave."

"Wait, what-?"

"You dropped out of school and worked random jobs, never staying in one place for long, until you ran into your birth parents while working as a waiter for a middle-class restaurant in London, a job you got thanks to your self-taught, _spectacular_ manners and natural ability to make people feel at ease just by being your non-aggressively sarcastic self. You're _that_ charming. And somehow, none of you ever spoke in detail of how, you ended up recognizing each other, possibly due to Leona's 'maternal instinct,' and now you're out of your dingy, rental one-room flat and staying with them, trying to get to know each other and see if you can be part of each others' lives."

Ted sat back, crossed his arms and looked expectantly at the stunned face of the soon-to-be-past-his-teenage-years Regulus Black.

It was enough to make the latter breathe a deep sigh of relief. "You almost got me with that one. That was a good one, I'll admit it." Relaxing somewhat, the young man drunk some of the bitter drink.

But the silence dragged on and the black-haired wizard began to feel uneasy. "That _was_ a joke right?" No answer."_Right?"_

Ted sent the dossier a pointed look.

Trying not to panic, Regulus opened the file and stated skimming through the birth certificate, hospital and school records, housing, and all other documents. The further he got, the more he started shaking his head in disbelief. He seriously considered letting loose and starting to shout but the more he read, the more numb he felt.

When he reached the end, the papers fell in a disorganized heap on the table and he leaned back on the couch, staring into nothing. "Marius didn't really need to go to his practice today did he?"

"Nope." Ted said simply.

"And Leona only used gardening talks as a pretext to be out of the House today, didn't she?"

"Yup."

"They didn't want to be here in case I blew up at them and disapparated to live on my own at Uncle Alphard's or wherever, didn't they? Even though I never actually suggested I was going to stay here, whether this got done or not?"

"They hope you'll at least come by and visit if you did..." Ted had finally started to drink his beer.

Regulus was shaking his head again. "Ted, _tell_ me this is just for convenience's sake! I've only been here for two months! Two months, if it's even been that. Tell me there's no underlying meaning in this!"

"I don't really _know_ enough to _tell_ you anything other than what's in the file."

The Scion of Black shot to his feet and started pacing. "This isn't right, Ted. I'm an adult at this point. Leona and Marius can't just think they can use me as a substitute for the child they could never have. I thought all the fussing and mothering Leona did was a way for her to get a good laugh, with making sure I ate at the right time and that my bed was comfortable. You're telling me it wasn't?" The tone was desperate.

Ted put his beer on the table and looked at the other wizard, but didn't comment.

"Say something dammit!"

"Regulus..." The older man seemed to debate with himself before just coming out and saying it. "You're good for them Regulus."

"... What?" Bewildered didn't even _begin_ to cut it.

"Look," Ted leaned forward, looking as serious as he'd ever been. "Leona and Marius have basically been talking about you non stop ever since you came here." He raised a hand to prevent being interrupted. "Now I know that's expected when you just turn their lives upside down, but I don't mean to say you upset their livelihoods, not at all. Leona's been a lot more active since there's been someone else around the house with her, like it's given her a real reason to keep this place as a _home_ rather than just a house."

Regulus collapsed in an armchair.

"And Marius, dear lord, the man hasn't been so cheerful and amused in his entire _life_. Did you know he talks about your cooking disasters as though they are the funniest thing he's ever witnessed in person? I think they actually might be. I barely remember _one_ time when he really laughed at anything before you literally collapsed through his door. But the past month and a half..." Ted made some undefined gestures with his hand. "I honestly have no idea what your interaction with him is like, but I wish I could be here to see it."

The young wizard had the impression of a dazed cat down pat. "I only discuss the Daily Prophet, the Muggle Papers and the news with him in the morning and evenings. Otherwise, we just go over some of the cases he works on when there's nothing else to do." He paused as realization struck. "And my cooking isn't a disaster!" He cried indignantly. "I'm getting better!"

"You discuss the papers," Ted said slowly, failing to repress a grin. "I'm guessing you do it in your usual manner? Merlin, Regulus you really don't realize what kind of art form you've turned sarcasm into, do you? I don't think I know _anyone_ who can be sarcastic but completely verbally inoffensive at the same time."

"Er... Thanks I think?"

Ted snorted, but then it was his turn to frown as he caught on to something. "Wait, did you say you discuss his cases with him?"

"Yes, why?"

"Discuss as in find out about the outline just to satisfy your curiosity, or discuss as in go over all the laws and loopholes to determine what course of action to take and how to implement it?"

Regulus blinked. "...the latter? I never actually expressed any curiosity in studying those abominations in-depth. It sort of just... sprang on me."

Ted stared in disbelief. "And you _understand_ all that legal jargon?"

Regulus scoffed. "The man mumbles and talks aloud when he brings his work home. It got annoying fast, but it's not like I could tell him off, not in his own home, especially not after he's done so much for me. I read some law books just to figure out what he was saying, and once I only managed to drag him to dinner by spotting the relatively simple solution, namely a very convenient precedent, to a problem he couldn't seem to get past because he was too knackered at the time, though he refuses to believe that was the reason even now. Like there could have been _anything_ else preventing him from seeing something so obvious."

The other man laughed.

"Right, laugh it up. You're not the one that's had to endure daily, hour-long talks that only finish when I come up with an answer to whatever issue he dumps in my lap. Sometimes I have to find references. _References_! I _despise_ that word now! It's the most horrible word in the English language, I swear. I thought wizards had problems, but do you have any _idea_ how twisted the British Muggle legal system is? It makes me shudder to think some countries have it even worse." A beat. "Though at least the muggle system is a lot fairer and allows much less room for escaping justice than the Wizarding one."

Through it all, Ted couldn't stop his guffaws.

It was getting bothersome. "Why are you laughing anyway?"

Finally stopping, Ted wiped real tears from his eyes. "Oh. Nevermind. Nothing, well, nothing _bad_ at any rate."

Regulus scowled but didn't say anything else because his eyes fell on the heap of documents and his mood sobered again. "Ted, old man," he ignored the latter's wince at being called old. "We met during a very strange period of my life."

"That we did," Theodore said sagely.

This once, the silence was more companionable than tense. "So, this is my new life story." Regulus supposed it was a foregone conclusion that he'd agree to this insane scenario. "Is it a _thing_ of the House of Black to swim in so much drama? Did you _have _to give Arcturus such a horrible life? I feel like I should get outraged on behalf of my fictitious self."

Ted surprised him by smiling warmly at him. "Well, you know what they say, the more absurd the lie, the more believable it is."

"One of these days, you'll follow a saying only to find out it's always been nothing but a pile of bogus."

"Then let's just hope this isn't one of these cases because _you'll_ be the one suffering the consequences if it is."

Regulus glared at him. "I hate you."

Ted beamed. "No you don't."

The former Death Eaters knew which battles to fight. "So I'm guessing the others will be back soon. I suppose finding a home cooked meal would be a nice surprise, but it would be ever so _frustrating_ to prepare it without an assistant." He made sure Ted had no way to pretend he missed the meaningful look he sent his way, or how he'd thrown his earlier words back in his face.

"Oh wow, look at the time! I'd better-"

He didn't even get out of his chair before a rush of displaced air apparated Regulus right in front of him. "-Help me get started so that it will all be ready by the time they arrive? Great idea! You can chop the onions and you know the golden rule: no magic if you can help it because it will interfere with the electrical appliances if too much of it gathers at once!"

Ted glared. "I hate you."

Regulus beamed. "No you don't."

"No," Ted shook his head, accepting defeat. "I really, _really_ do."

"Sucks to be you then." Ted barely felt himself squeezed before he was in the kitchen, with Regulus letting go of his arm. "Next time you can say you have an appointment with a patient, so that I'd at least need to put an effort into figuring out if you're lying or not."

Ted must have been dejected, faced with the onions, that he didn't give any sign he remembered that Regulus was well aware he _always _ took the day off when visiting, so that argument would be doomed to failure in any case. "You're horrible."

"Consider it retribution for ruining my life. You wrote my destiny so that I got stolen as a baby and then immediately abandoned? Then orphanage and high school dropout? For shame, playing God and manipulating my life like that, without even giving me a say in the matter."

Regulus was already looking through the cupboards, so he didn't see Ted freezing at his attempt at a jest.

What he _did_ see when he turned towards the table to deposit the spice jar was enough to make him jump back and produce an inarticulate scream of fear. And pull his wand out before he could think.

It wasn't _just_ the fact that a person was suddenly _there_ without any explanation and with neither of them having noticed his appearance. It wasn't just the fact that he was dressed completely in pristine white and had the most lordly-looking facial hair arrangement in recorded history, with beard and moustache in five braids at chest length, or that said beard, mustache, the bushy eyebrows and his spiked but not at all messy hair, was just as immaculate as his clothing, down to the floating scarf that glided through the air like it had a mind of its own. And even the ankle-length coat.

It was also not _just_ the way he lounged sideways, with one leg swung over the chair arm, while said seating implement was balanced on the corner of a single one of the two rear feet, as though gravity had absolutely no say in the matter.

No, it was mostly the clearly visible white and green aura exuding from him that prevented Regulus from releasing the blasting curse at the forefront of his mind. The silver-green eyes pinning him but somehow fitting the grin on that ruggedly handsome face might have also had something to do with it.

The uninvited guest waved merrily, his flowing movements at odds with his stocky, broad-shouldered build. "Lo!" He smiled wider. "Also, I am _not_ an uninvited guest, since you will actually give me permission to retroactively interfere in your life a few of years from now." He paused. "In this exact manner." Another pause. "Because by then it will, obviously, have already happened so there wouldn't be any sense in deciding otherwise. But don't worry! You completely approve." A beat. "Or you will. And before you ask, no, whatever opinions you may have now will not deter me from my intended course of action because the instances of every self that are _more_ than the others _always _take precedence when deciding what direction their lives and destinies should take."

Then there was silence.

"Er..." Ted stuttered, wide-eyed. "Hello?"

"Theodore Tonks," the short newcomer switched his attention to him, and yet the precariously balanced chair did not shift even a millimeter. "Greetings! Though I believe I have you at a disadvantage, so I suppose introductions are in order." With mist and dissolving threads of light marking where he appeared and disappeared, the man was now standing in the doorway and performing a bow, with his right fist over the exact center of his chest. "For the purposes of my visit to this world, the utterable name most accurately containing me would be Raphael." He straightened, and he seemed larger than the others even though he was significantly shorter. "Though because I foresee me being called by a nickname more often than not, and since it has, from one of my perspectives, already happened, the other name this world knows me by, Israfil, will do just as well."

Ted showed a surprising skill at taking things in stride, possibly because he had no idea what those names meant for Muggles. "Okay. Well, nice to meet you?" Looking between Regulus and the newcomer, he figured he may as well just ask. "I'm guessing you're the one that deposited him on Marius' porch back in May?"

"No need to make it sound like I was a sack of vegetables you know," Regulus muttered. "Is that going to stay that way forever now?" He pointed at the chair that was _still_ defying gravity, suspended on a single point. "Wait, nevermind that!" His wits finally returned. "Who are you? And don't give me the 'I already told you my name' line!"

"I am the delegate of the Dog Star."

If it were night, crickets would have probably made themselves heard through the walls and even the best privacy charms ever invented.

Regulus palmed his face. "I suppose I brought that on myself, didn't I?"

"Well what did you expect? Sentients are not simple. You cannot summarize them in small sentences like 'house elves are short, single-minded creatures that excel at slavery,' unless you really are narrow-minded and bigoted enough to believe that is all they are."

Regulus distantly felt like he'd just set himself up for a long lecture. Or string of lectures.

"Oh, that's precisely what I'm here for," the now no longer shining person said, before turning to Ted. "I'll bring him back in time for dinner, so be sure to have lots of food ready. He'll want it."

Both wizards started talking at once. "Now wait just a mi-" but they were cut off when the short man moved to where Regulus was with a lingering flash of gossamer light and disappeared with him.

"-. .-"

By the time dinner was served, Ted was annoyed. No, Theodore Tonks was exasperated beyond belief. He thought he'd seen the brooding faces of those two enough times, but these were in a league of their own. If he had to listen to Leona say "maybe we shouldn't have dropped the idea on him like this, Marius," or "we should have asked him beforehand what he thought," he would lose it and conjure a goat in the middle of the dining room just so he could _Reducto_ it to bloody smithereens.

The atmosphere at the tablet suddenly stilled as the front door was heard opening and closing. The familiar muffled noises of someone taking their shoes off were followed by a tired, bruised and thoroughly annoyed Regulus Arcturus Black entering and muttering "I suppose if there's _anyone_ that deserves his name being butchered into the most inappropriate nickname imaginable, it's _that_ guy." Pure relief washed over the young wizard, Ted noticed, when he saw the food on the table, even if Ted _had_ chickened out and ordered take-out.

He didn't know if Regulus liked Italian, but the lad looked like he'd be willing to eat anything from the way he fell into a chair and descended upon the food without asking him to heal his cuts and bruises, or doing it himself.

After ten minutes of wolfing down everything in sight, Regulus seemed to notice that he was being stared at by three middle-aged people. "Okay, whose cat died?"

The confusion transmitted through that simple question was so pure and clear that Ted managed to hold his snickers in only one second more than Marius managed to restrain his full-blow belly laugh.

The former death eater seemed to realize something was suspicious and glared at Ted. "Let me guess, you didn't tell them and they thought I'd panicked and taken to the hills?"

"Oh, I told them, believe me, or I tried," he mock-glared in Leona's direction. She was the only one still composed, though she, too, was smiling. "But between running away from an awkward situation and being kidnapped by an overgrown dwarf that can glow in the dark, what would you be more inclined to believe?"

"Oh, it's so _heartening_ to know you think it's more likely for me to chicken out than being taken against my will!" Regulus, Ted noticed, was somehow able to speak while eating with no impact on his pronunciation. "I'm not sure if that means you think I'm a coward or too strong for the latter to happen."

The portly wizard was gratified to see Marius raising his hands in surrender. "Okay okay, I believe you both now, it's just... strange. I mean, whoever or whatever he is... why only appear now?"

The battered young man inhaled the last of his food and moved to dessert. "He said he wouldn't just pop in the house uninvited, so he waited until I 'accepted' my role as part of the denizens of this property (and, thus, had the right to invite others in) before appearing, since he apparently got my permission to interfere in my life a few years from now, but never got around to getting your verbal permission to come over, not before he got mine and decided it was enough." He thought for a moment. "Some time in the future."

Pure silence met that explanation.

Ted got another look from those blue-gray eyes. "Let me guess, you didn't actually _mention_ anything specific about how I disappeared? Aren't healers supposed to have a sort of 'mode of utmost sternness' that enables them to make themselves listened and capable of ordering anyone and everyone around?"

"So I didn't manage to overcome their broodiness. Sue me."

"Oh, don't say that." Marius intervened. "Seriously, don't. He'd probably win."

Both wizards scoffed. "Here, let me patch you up. What exactly caused this anyway?" The healer waved his wand over the wizard a few times and frowned. "I can't detect any spell traces."

Regulus shrugged. "That's because these didn't come from spells. We fenced."

Leona played with her cake. "Fencing? With actual swords?"

"Rapiers," Regulus took out his wand and looked at it. "He taught me a few basic forms for an hour or so and then it was practice duels. He even gave me homework if you can believe it. I'm somehow supposed to learn a conjuring spell to create a silver rapier over my wand by the time he shows up again." He blinked. "Then I'll have to make it wordless. And fast. Even though metals are the hardest things to conjure." He turned the stick between his fingers a few times. "I'm supposed to do it in a way that puts the wand in the hilt. Did I mention that he didn't say _when_ he'll be here? Or where he'll decide to take me when he does? He's _infuriating_, I tell you."

"I don't think you should allow yourself to be _forced_ into anything," Leona said worriedly.

Regulus sighed. "Oh, don't worry. Whether it was because he found out through time travel or some other means, he definitely guessed my interests well. I enjoyed every single thing he showed me, and the talk we had on the way to... wherever it was." Ted couldn't describe the depth of contemplation that the young man settled into, but it was almost mesmerizing. "I thought I had a fairly broad perspective on life, but just today's talk with him showed me how wrong I was. I don't know _why_ he rescued me, and is helping me now but I feel like I should accept everything he wants to pass on." he leaned back in his seat and took his arms off the table. "Just don't tell him I said that."

"Okay..." Marius acquiesced and, after probably looking for a change of subject, he found one. "So where did he take you?"

"A random little town in India..."

"-. .-"

The last of the elder Blacks' skepticism over whether or not the white "visitor" was real ended up being dispelled when Regulus was returned from a random foray by means of misty white teleportation in the middle of the living room. The white-clad individual introduced himself in his usual buoyant manner and left a pair of flabbergasted old squibs behind to pick their minds off the floor on their own.

Regulus didn't actually recount much of what went on when he left on those "excursions" with Fil, as he'd come to call the squat man (or whatever he was). The 'homework' he got besides the first one (wandless and wordless sticking and featherweight charms were the most bizarre ones so far) and his ongoing research into bypassing anti-apparition and disapparition wards, did a good job of outlining the kind of training he was undergoing to his acquaintances. Andromeda sometimes joined in, when her daughter was away at a friend's house or another.

Fil usually came along once or twice a week. He completely lacked any concept of routine, which Regulus figured wasn't such a bad thing, especially considering that The Appearance (he was capitalizing the recurring event in his mind now) always occurred when the former Death Eater was feeling the most relaxed. A clear mind was mandatory for the kind of activities they carried out in whatever corner of the world they translocated to (it definitely was _not_ apparition).

Regulus once asked why the short man was only showing himself now, and why, despite his obviously great power, he wasn't doing something about Voldemort (the Taboo curse didn't seem to apply in the silver knight's presence). The answer was that, technically, Raphael hadn't even _come_ to this planet yet and he was working within the confines of a stable time loop similar to what Time Turners allow for. Regulus felt that didn't really answer the question, especially his passive attitude towards the Dark Lord, but held his tongue.

When he asked why Fil had come to save and help _him_ of all people, the answer was that the thread of his life was closely entwined with that of one directly involved with the event that precipitated Israfil's arrival to this planet several years down the line. Raphael also said that the conditions he'd found that enabled that to be the case could only have been in effect if he'd placed them there, like the illusion on the Black Family tapestry.

Regulus asked if there was anything he should know to avoid messing up the timeline. Fil laughed and said that was impossible because there was no such thing as a timeline, and he would never do anything to prevent him from exercising his free will. When Regulus mentioned reality-shattering paradoxes, Fil said the Ascended host, not to mention the Primum Mobilae, would have grounds to feel insulted over the implication that Creation would be so fragile. When Regulus mentioned the theory of parallel realities, Fil disarmed him and shook his head, saying there is no such thing.

When Regulus asked why, Fil said that the law of free will and the law of karma are the two fundamental laws of the Cosmos, and that there would not be free will if everyone in existence was basically forced to make every choice possible in the grand scheme of things, nor would karma have any meaning if sentients ultimately had no control over what they did.

The wizard shut up at that point, feeling oddly reassured to know that, but then he began to wonder about the Imperius. Fil said it was a 'human creation' that only worked because most people embodied on Earth forced their control, one way or another, on other people during one or more of their past lives, or gathered enough karma of other kinds for the Imperius to be considered an appropriate way of suffering the consequences.

Regulus wondered if that was how all spells worked. A cutting curse didn't actually cut anything, it made the body of whoever it hit experience the effects of being cut. Fil nodded and said his observation was spot on, and that people, wizards or otherwise, basically become the instrument of karma whenever they harm someone else, though they don't get away without making new karma of their own if they aren't acting out of pure self defense, and sometimes not even then, since there is usually a way to avoid such confrontations.

Regulus sarcastically asked if Fil was preaching the worth of turning the other cheek. Fil smiled and said that you don't turn the other cheek unless you have reason to believe there is at least _some_ possibility it will have the intended effect, otherwise you're just casting pearls before swine. Fighting for what is "right" is an understandable attitude for the people of the world as it is today, he said. As soon as humanity rises to the next level of being, a new attitude will be possible to teach through progressive revelation, and maybe people wouldn't so readily harm others then.

The wizard bluntly asked if Raphael was a god, despite wizards not having any religion to speak of. The other one smiled fondly and said every sentient was a god of some sort only at a different state of being. Regulus asked if he was trying to nurture him into growing into something like him, assuming there even was a chance of that happening. Fil laughed and said it wouldn't happen in this incarnation but maybe after he balanced all his karmic debt, however many years, decades or centuries and reincarnations it took, then _maybe_.

During their fifth training session, the wizard asked why the other had called himself the delegate of the Dog Star. It was Sirius' namesake, and he wanted to know if there was a connection. He didn't get an answer to his dilemma, but he did get something else.

Fil answered that all stars are physical manifestations of a cosmic consciousness, _Gods_ as it were, and that someone of significance made a wish on the former death eater's brother's namesake, a wish that echoed through reality. And since the Star couldn't just abandon its star system, it asked for someone to come over and check on things instead.

After getting over his shock that wishing on stars _actually worked_, Regulus asked why that one wish mattered so much (he'd guessed well that he wouldn't be told what the wish had been, or who had made it).

Fil answered that it hadn't so much been a wish as a _decision_. When being born, the soul had chosen, like all souls choose, when, how and why to be born. The new consciousness was pure and unburdened, newly created and bereft of any Karmic weight. It would have been allowed to embody on a planet much higher in terms of spiritual clarity, where it could have mastered existence easily, as is the right of those that have not misqualified God Matter, which _everything_ is made of.

Yet the soul volunteered for a great responsibility on Earth instead, and to risk suffering great loss in his early life, with the provision that there would be enough good fortune in later years to balance it out. Sadly, due to various actions on the part of those who should _not_ have failed that soul so utterly, the level of hardship during those early years ended up being much higher than it should have been. And while the Universe _had_ adjusted to make sure things would get even better later in life, the soul decided (as was within rights due to owing this world and its inhabitants absolutely _nothing_) to choose a different fate right then and there.

Regulus silently wished it would be so easy for everyone to change their destiny. Fil raised an eyebrow and asked how, exactly, everything that happened to him since his _decision_ to free himself from Voldemort failed to qualify as that.

Needless to say, the Scion of the House of Black kept his mouth shut for a good while afterwards.

All their meetings went on in the same vein. Raphael, or Israfil or whatever his name was, teleported him somewhere. Sometimes they went for a stroll through a city, town or village, depending on what 'lesson' was about to be taught, and if he had to 'observe' the people for some reason or other. Later, they would train in some area, both body and mind (balance between the physical, emotional, mental and identity bodies is _everything_, Fil kept saying) during which Regulus would ask whatever was on his mind, provided he wasn't gasping for breath.

It was only at their 21'st meeting that Regulus worked up the nerve to ask why Fil looked like he did. Fill grinned, asked what took him so long and said he chosen to indulge in a bout of nostalgia, as that was what he looked like during his last and _only_ incarnation. "And before you ask, no, I'm not native from this Planet."

"So then why did you use that strange wording when you said what your name was?"

"Look it up."

And that had been that.

A stack of papers being dumped on the small table in the living room startled Regulus awake. He didn't remember dozing off, but it must have been a while ago if he was so drowsy. "Is the doorbell broken? And even if it is, don't you know how to knock?"

Ted smirked. "Did both, three times each. You didn't respond so I came in when I saw that the front door was unlocked. Don't you know how to set an alarm? Why were you asleep anyway? "

Regulus groaned. "Can't you come over when I'm not the only one here? Or did Andromeda or your daughter kick you out of the house because they stand you just as much as I do?"

"Ouch. That was harsh," Ted mock-sighed. "Well, I guess I'll just take my findings and leave if you feel that way." The papers flew from his hands due to a silent, wandless summoning. "This is the thanks I get," the healer grumbled as he sat down and folded his arms to wait.

Not that Regulus noticed. His attention was completely riveted on the words on the first page in the dossier: Raphael / Israfil. The rest of the file was made of literary extracts from apocryphal writings and various historical and religious texts. There was even a page of _references_, the hated word. It all boiled down to one thing, one thing that made the young wizard's eyes go wide. "Is this for real?"

"-. .-"

Wizards weren't really into religion, but they'd still ended up adopting the practice of celebrating Christmas. The holiday was supposed to be a time of cheer, and Regulus had to admit the first day really _had_ been. With Marius and Leona setting the dinner time to a few hours later than usual, Ted and Andromeda had been able to have their own dinner at home and come over too (they'd allowed their daughter 'It's Tonks!' Nymphadora to go at one of her friends's family for the night) and they'd all had a good enough time that the former Death Eater had been able to put his feeling of uselessness out of his mind for a short while.

But now, early on Boxing Day, December 26, 1980, the feeling had not only returned with a vengeance. It had crashed into him with enough force to completely shut down his mind and leave him sitting numbly on the couch and staring into space. So much for Andromeda and Ted coming to pick up Marius and Leona so that they could go visit the Dorea and Charlus Potter.

In June of the previous year, when he'd compiled a list of every inner circle Death Eater member (and another one of all the minor ones he knew of) and anonymously sent it by owl to James Potter, only to later learn, through Andromeda and Ted, that the Order of the Phoenix weren't going to do anything but "watch them closely," Regulus had felt annoyed.

When he had to forego trying to get into the Gaunt Shack because of the alarm and parseltongue wards Voldemort had set in place, he'd felt disheartened but at least he got the confirmation that a horcrux had to be there.

He decided against informing the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Fire Chicken about the Horcruxes. The former because not only was a high-ranking Unspeakable part of Voldemort's inner circle, but many in the ministry were under the Imperius, or outright spies. The latter, because he knew _precisely_ what would happen with the information: Albus Dumbledore would order everyone who knew of it to keep it a secret, maybe he would even apply memory charms, and then researched everything on his own because _no one_ else could _possibly_ have anything to contribute.

Ted and Andromeda kept telling him that he was too biased against his old Headmaster, that Dumbledore was still a good man at heart and wouldn't be so ruthless or narrow-minded, and should be trusted to do all he can to find a way to locate and destroy the Horcruxes, or maybe find a way to destroy Voldemort in spite of them.

Regulus had dodged the implication of him being more against the old man than he had cause to be, and then asked them to honestly answer who had the better chance of finding out how to solve the problem: an old _Light_ Wizard that was already neck-deep in leading and organizing the fight against the Dark (something that was proving too much all on its own), or two of the offspring of the darkest Wizarding family that had a lot of free time, plus access to the most obscure tomes of dark magic thanks to the Black library, which Kreacher had been all too eager to help his Master Regulus get reading material from.

They'd relented in front of that argument.

Regulus had wisely refrained from expressing his astonishment at being allowed to make this decision. If Ted and Andromeda, both his elders, would have wanted, they could have easily exposed him and what he knew to Dumbledore long ago. Truthfully, Regulus sometimes really wanted to do that himself, if only to be accepted back by Sirius, but he knew for sure that if anyone got wind of him being alive, Voldemort would have enough reason to check on the locket, and then _all_ the Horcruxes, however many they were, would get moved.

The wizard knew Dumbledore would be willing to keep him a secret, even if he _would_ hold that favor over his head for the rest of his life, but there was a nagging suspicion at the back of the former Death Eater's mind that the Dark Lord had a spy in the Order, like he had one everywhere else. It was a logic leap perhaps, or maybe just another way for him to convince himself to stay away from the situation, but the fact remained that he _had_ made progress on his own. He'd found two reliable ways to destroy horcruxes: Fiendfyre and basilisk venom.

And while he had no ideas how to get the latter, he had all the material he needed to learn the former. Even if he lost control of the flames, he could just choose a spot in the middle of a desert somewhere to deal with the locket, at the very least, then apparate away and let the fire go out on its own from lack of fuel.

He'd only put it off because he wanted to figure out first if Voldemort would feel the loss, and if there was some spell, or a way to develop one, that could help locate the rest by using one as a focus. The lack of progress in _that_ area, and the war in the wizarding world that the so-called Light Side was slowly losing, was what had made him feel useless and frustrated for the past year and a half. His part-time job at Ted's clinic (under heavy glamour charms) only partially alleviated that feeling.

There would be nothing to alleviate _this_ though. "Could you repeat that?" He asked dully. "I'm not sure I heard you well after the 'The Potters and Evanses, minus Lili's sister and her fiancee, all got together at James Potter's house in Wales...'"

Andromeda and Ted were sitting across the tea table that had seen so much use over the past several months. Their complexions were ashen, just like those of Marius and Leona who'd taken seats on either side of the youngest wizard. "It happened yesterday evening, just before the Christmas dinner. James, Lily and Sirius were out for a bit of skating, where they would meet Peter and Remus before going to dine with the parents, but by the time they got back the... the Dark Mark was hovering in the sky above the house."

Regulus didn't shoot out of his chair. He apparated to a random spot in the room and started pacing, apparating again and again, all over the room every few steps, with everything new that Andromeda related. The soundlessness of it all sharply contrasted with the severity of the situation.

Andromeda was near tears herself, but she hurried to add. "You-Know-Who probably wanted it to be a surprise, because there... the time window they had to attack was very small. The aurors were still investigating the scene when I left, but it had to have happened quickly-"

"Bullshit," Regulus' voice was a hoarse whisper as he whirled and glared at his cousin. "That's bullshit and you know it Andromeda. The Potters were Sirius' family as much as they were James'. There's no way Bellatrix wouldn't have been involved in this 'Christmas present,' which means Crucio was cast in that house at least once! Damn her, damn them all!" It was a miracle that no accidental magic happened.

Instead of pacing, Regulus was now a statue in front of the fireplace, silhouetted against the firelight. It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing the Floo powder and yelling the name of Sirius' flat.

"You should go," Andromeda whispered. She'd had time to walk up behind him. "Sirius needs family Regulus, the closest family possible."

"No," he shrugged her hand off his shoulder and apparated to the other side of the room, not caring how aggravating it was to everyone else. He'd _known. _He'd _known_ something was going to happen from how much the Dark Mark burned him the past week, but with how often it did, he didn't pay much mind to how much hotter this time seemed, assuming it was because of the cold of December.

"Regulus, haven't you hid enough?" Ted asked, but then frowned and spoke with more edge than ever. "Isn't it time you gave something back?"

"You actually think it would help?" Regulus asked with pure disbelief. "Sirius is going to do the Gryffindor thing and comfort James and Lily, then go home and have a breakdown on his own before turning everything into more fuel for his determination to be the best Hit Wizard in the force. What am I supposed to do? Pop over and say 'Hey Sirius, what do you know, I'm alive, surprise!' Do you have any idea how much it would _cheapen_ this?"

"Is that really your reasoning?" Marius asked, angry himself. He'd just lost his _sister_, Regulus realized, and it was plain that he would have been ready to do anything to be at her side if she'd survived while Charlus had died. "Or is it that you're just afraid to face him, even now. I honestly didn't think you were such a coward!"

"See, this is what I'm saying will happen!" He yelled back. "You're already turning this into something about me! Just like our parents always compared him to me, and basically turning everything into something about me, the perfect pureblood that Sirius never was! You're asking me to go there and basically continue the tradition? Even though I'm why he was run off by his blood relations?" He laughed bitterly. "You're deluded if you think I'll willingly agree to anything like that. No, I'm done contributing to his life being defined according to my presence in it. He deserves to mourn his _actual_ parents, no matter the lack of blood ties, unmolested. You can go and try to smother him in affection if you wish, completely ignoring what kind of person he is and what kind of life he's led, but I'll pass."

Marius was angry now and he looked like he was about to start shouting something, but the wind was cut from his sails when Leona grabbed him gently by the arm and shook her head.

Andromeda and Ted also seemed to want to say something, but stayed silent.

It wasn't that he wanted to get away from that situation. That would have confirmed his being a coward. The reason Regulus couldn't stay in that room anymore was because he couldn't trust himself not to give in and go through the Floo anyway. "I'll be upstairs." He disappeared.

If the others decided to brand him a coward for it, let them.

He didn't know how long he stayed immobile, staring through the window but not really seeing beyond it. He imagined he should be cursing up a storm, maybe thrashing all the furniture in his vicinity, but instead of furious and ready to explode, he felt cold and brittle, like the icicles hanging precariously off the edge of the roof. Even the burning on his left forearm didn't warm him, not that it ever did. Voldemort's satisfaction could only be considered a good thing by fools and madmen. It was a small consolation that he'd only been one of the former instead of the latter.

"Why are you here?" He hadn't sensed him appear. He never did, even though his efforts of increasing his magical sensitivity allowed him to sense most wards and magical transport at this point. Like a shiver of static washing over his skin.

The white reflection in the window was hard to miss though. "Giving you the opportunity."

"To do what? Blame you for doing nothing? Accuse you of hoarding your knowledge and watching from the sidelines even though you have enough power to unmake this world if you wanted?" A small part of his mind was amazed at how devoid of emotion his voice was. "Maybe yell at the top of my lungs that those people, at the very least, couldn't have deserved what happened to them."

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All of the above and whatever else you can think of."

Regulus would have done it. He would have turned from the window and shouted himself hoarse, accused him of everything and more, demanded to know what the hell he was playing at. He knew he could even let go of his magic and start throwing curses and banishers around, without the worry of inflicting harm or committing a crime he would regret later. It would be liberating and exhausting enough to actually let him sleep until the next day.

But it came to him that Raphael didn't really _owe_ this world anything, didn't owe _him _anything, but he'd come anyway, and turned himself into a willing target for his ire. He didn't _have_ to appear here and become the scapegoat. He didn't _have_ to really do anything. This world's bullshit wasn't really his problem, but he was still here, doing all he could while still following the decision of the denizens of this planet to do whatever the hell they wanted, no matter how senseless, all because the universe operated according to the law of free will. And the Ascended host, _the Primum Mobilae_ if one really existed, followed their own laws, only making sure the stupidity of each group of souls didn't doom all the others, by restricting them to planets -physical manifestations of living Gods themselves- through the law and weight of Karma, otherwise known as the force of gravity, until such a time as they figured out how to stop producing it.

Heaving a sigh, Regulus Black turned from the window and looked at the white man sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. "It's just so... _hard_ to think those four people could have possibly been murderers or whatever in their past lives to deserve this happening to them."

The other was as understanding as ever. "Maybe they weren't. Maybe they chose on a higher level to spare others the same fate, hoping the example would help those souls more than the experience once they realize what came to pass, after they moved on. Maybe they intuitively placed themselves in the situation when they decided to come together in that house instead of Griffon's Eye, and when they persuaded their children to stop insisting on helping with the preparations and just go out and have a good time."

He'd told him once, Regulus remembered, that he wasn't omniscient when he appeared like this, because one can't really speak from perspectives and fit sentients' concept of _personality_ when one knows _all._ It allowed him to say such things without the risk of sentients having a reason to accuse them of lying. Maybe Charlus and Dorea really had been horrible in past lives, but this way he could honestly say that maybe they hadn't been. _Maybe_ they were heroes_._ _Maybe_ they'd intuitively taken upon themselves the fates that Lily and James, and maybe Sirius, would have had if they'd not attended. "The same way whoever caused your coming decided to be born here, right? Just out of altruism?" The silence was enough of an answer. "Don't you ever feel like you just want to save everyone and make everything alright?"

Seeing such a sad smile on a normally serene face was almost heartbreaking. "All the time."

"-. .-"

December 28, 1979, was an inappropriately clear and bright day. Not the sort of weather that should accompany two funerals.

Then again, that was a moot point, since no two funeral would take place. Just one, that of the Evanses. Charlus and Dorea had requested in their will that they be cremated and that their ashes be scattered so that there would be no place for people to go and feel sad. Whoever planned to attend would see the shorter ash scattering first, then move to wherever the other event would be taking place. Probably near Spinner's End, in Cokeworth.

After making a token effort to convince him to come along, the visibly disappointed Marius and Leona left to attend the ceremonies with Ted and Andromeda by side-along apparition. Regulus put on the perfect show of having absolutely no intention of doing anything other than mope around the house and wallow in self-pity all day long.

So, naturally, five minutes after he was left alone, he had blond hair and a brown goatee. He also was no longer at Number 2 Sunshine Road, Greater Whinging, Surrey, but on a side-alley near a certain apartment building that had an unnoticeable half for magical people. Not for the first time, Regulus wondered why in hell the Potters didn't move into Griffon's Eye and badgered Sirius, and the other Marauders, into going with them.

Ultimately, the solution to apparating _into_ anti-apparition wards had proven quite simple. Since the ward caused you to rematerialize in the same place, Regulus just had to make sure the first, and fake, apparition never got rebounded to the same spot as himself (thus killing him by materializing air in his bloodstream and wherever). In other words, he would just need to cast an anti-apparition ward where he was going to disapparate _from_, and use his four-D apparition to trick his way into the _other_ anti-apparition ward he was aiming for. If there were overlapping anti-apparition and anti-disapparition wards, he'd not be able to teleport between spots within their confines, but he _would_ be able to use his workaround to translocate outside of them.

Finishing the ward, Regulus took a deep breath and made his first ever attempt at bypassing this most essential security feature. If this worked, it meant he had a way of completely bypassing all other alarms and defenses which, unlike anti-translocation wards, _were_ bubble- or curtain-shaped and did _not_ cover the space within their borders. He'd only have to be watchful for alarm charms and wards placed on specific objects, and he knew spells to reveal those.

Sirius' apartment proved rather spartan, though it completely lacked any sort of order. Clothes lied around haphazardly, though Regulus supposed it might only be a one-time thing. He could almost imagine his brother carelessly tossing things around looking for some black robes, and whatever muggles wore at funerals. The study wasn't much better, with books all over the place, though his eyes were drawn to the pictures on the desk. One was of the marauders, one of the marauders and Lily, one had the elder potters smiling and waving, and one had everyone in the other photos together. Then there was James and Lily's wedding picture.

Reminding himself that he was on a timetable, Regulus returned to the bedroom and looked at all the clothes. It was usually a bad idea to have more than one portkey that did the same thing, because two sets of that magic activating at the same time could have disastrous effects on one's health. Being pulled by two forces while within that vortex could tear you apart.

In theory, this should have made Regulus' idea of turning each and every one of Sirius' clothes, (down to the underwear and socks in the hamper) into emergency portkeys completely impractical, and dangerous as all hell. Fortunately, the former Death Eater had figured out how to make objects with identical portkey properties recognize each other when worn by the same person, and act as a single whole.

It wasn't a perfect solution to his worries by any means. While Sirius was unlikely to wear the exact same clothes as the ones he took today, he could always just buy new ones, and the Hit Wizard uniforms had a habit of getting torn to pieces during skirmishes. Regulus couldn't honestly come over and charm those too on a regular basis.

With luck, though, his method of combining portkeys, or at least the idea of always having an emergency portkey on one's person, with 'mortal peril' as activation condition, would catch on with the rest of the wizarding world and the families of witches and wizards. It baffled him that this wasn't standard procedure yet.

With a swish of his wand, all the clothes flew back in the closet. All of them, even the dirty laundry from the bathroom. Regulus took the position he figured Sirius had used that morning and tried to figure out how to best toss around the clothes after he was done with each. Sirius shouldn't realize the disaster area was any different from in the morning as long as it was still, well, disastrous, right?

Oh, who was he kidding? Sirius was a Hit-Wizard, and Mad-Eye's student to boot! He'd know someone had broken into his flat as soon as he entered the house. Hopefully he'd think someone was just looking for something specific and disturbed everything in their path in their frantic search.

"Portus." Green socks? Odd. It was such a _slytherin _color. Socks were good for portkeys, always on the skin and unlikely to be lost, unless Sirius lost both his legs at once, which would mean he was doomed anyway. Maybe Dumbledore's obsession with socks had an actual justification? After a momentary deliberation, Regulus added an alarm charm with the activation condition being _mortal peril_ _for more than 10 seconds_. If the danger lasted so long, it would mean the portkeys failed to activate, meaning anti-portkey wards were being used and Sirius was probably in deep shit.

Regulus never thought he'd _actually_ need to know the spell used in wizard family clocks (which had hands for each family member and, instead of hours, 'places' they could point to, like home, at work, lost, _mortal peril_, etc.). The homework Fil assigned didn't seem so absurd anymore. For that matter, he'd never even _thought_ of those applications of sticking and featherweight charms before, but now he was always using them during duels.

One sock tossed over his shoulder, a myriad of clothes to go. Well, if Sirius came back while he was still here, charming his stuff and casting magic-concealing charms on top of everything else, Regulus would say it was fate and face the music.

"-. .-"

He'd finished before Sirius returned, but that wasn't the end of Regulus' vilgilante acitivities. He probably _shouldn't _have snooped around Sirius' files, but it was his brother's own fault for bringing his work home with him and not installing better protections. And after seeing _the_ full list of muggleborn witches, wizards and current/future muggleborn Hogwarts students in Britain (which Sirius was apparently tasked with finding security ideas for, within _budget_ of course, though it was unclear if the MOM had ordered it or Dumbledore), Regulus couldn't, in good conscience, _not _make a copy. That he could _easily_ track those families down in the muggle world was _pure serendipity_.

Regulus thought of Augustus Rookwood. The Unspeakable had a high standing in Voldemort's eyes, and among the rest of the inner circle, not just for being a spy in the Department of Mysteries, but also because of his ability to track down muggleborn families in the muggle world. Everyone assumed he knew some obscure magic that allowed him to do so, and Rookwood never did anything to disavow them of that notion. Regulus had to hand it to the old man, he knew how to play his hand. Why _should_ he reveal that tracking people in the muggle world consisted of the arduous and sophisticated process of opening a phone book?

Since it would have been _suspicious_ and unfair for just Sirius to start being portkeyed away, Regulus spent the next few weeks randomly visiting the homes of the Order members, and ministry officials he knew of, and charming the living stuffing out of their wardrobes.

Figuratively speaking of course.

In between, he would drop by the homes of the parents of all the muggleborns. Then random muggles. One nomagical in every human settlement being teleported to the ministry should be enough of a reason for Aurors to go check on the place of origin, if only to get him back home. The obliviators may as well earn their bloody pay.

He'd had to keep a straight face when Ted and Andromeda, after the awkwardness of what happened at Christmas passed, visited and told him (and the Blacks) that Sirius was in a right state and badgering Remus, Peter and James to stop randomly Portus-ing whatever he was wearing every day, or slipping him charmed items, or feeding him Portus-ed food and drinks ('If there's any way to do it, Mooney can probably figure it out, and I'm guessing he already did, the innocent-looking bastard!"). He said he would promise to wear a voice-activated portkey if they stopped pranking him, but that they needed to understand that 'mortal peril' was a day-to-day part of being a Hit-Wizard.

Remus tried to assure him it wasn't him or James by saying that if it _had _ been either of them, they'd have found a way to get around the charms on his flying motorbike and Portus the living lights out of _that _too.

After another week passed and everyone wizened up to the fact it wasn't a prank, not one by the Marauders at any rate (mostly because James, a Hit-Wizard himself, also started experiencing the 'Phenomenon' as the MOM had dubbed it), Sirius got forcefully put on leave until he figured out what was going on. James too. Apparently, similar things were happening to various other witches and wizards, and while it was aggravating for the few law enforcers that fell prey to this portkey-spamming, it also drove the Death Eaters completely up the wall (and Voldemort too, given the burning in the Dark Mark), because by the time they got anti-portkey wards up in time, their targets apparated away, and by the time they set up an anti-disapparition ward, the portkeys activated on their own.

And if enough Death Eaters came to set up both wards at once, their sheer numbers would qualify as enough reason to activate the 'mortal peril' clause and whisk the people away the moment the would-be murderers appeared in the area, often before the intended targets even knew there was danger coming.

The Gates of Hogwarts, the middle of Diagon Alley, Saint Mungo's hospital, and the Ministry Atrium were seeing a lot more Portkey traffic than usual. To put it _lightly_.

After another week, Dumbledore finally figured out what had happened, and had actually commended whoever had done it (while remarking that they should pray Voldemort never finds out how it was done). He said emergency portkeys were a good idea for the families of order members if nothing else. After some wrangling, the ministry agreed to supply them to most people that might become Death Eater targets, if only so that they could actually track them and dissuade the mysterious vigilante from taking further action.

They even sent a message through the Daily Prophet that "Minister Bagnold appreciates the thought behind these actions, but hopes that the Witch or Wizard behind The Phenomenon cease their activities _immediately_ so that order may be regained." Followed by a footnote that "Should the one responsible be interested in employment as ward master or with the portkey office, the Ministry is willing to offer clemency and overlook these unlawful acts due to the spirit they were carried out in."

At least they hadn't given him a Name-of-Many-Hyphens.

But most importantly, the ancient Headmaster of Hogwarts pointed out that the culprit had inadvertently accomplished a miracle: since too many Death Eaters automatically qualified as mortal peril, Voldemort had started sending smaller forces if he was to have any hope of accomplishing anything before the CLAUSE came into play. And since most of them had to busy themselves with the wards, it had brought things closer to a fair fight than they'd ever been.

Andromeda concluded by saying that Lily confided in her that she was grateful to whoever had done it because it forced Sirius and James to take some time off. They'd been getting really reckless after the Christmas tragedy, and they usually went to work tired because of sleeping too little, and she could rest more easily now that they weren't throwing themselves into 'Mortal Peril' all the time.

Regulus had been every bit the Slytherin and asked as many questions as possible in the hopes of trying to "figure out" what or who this could be.

On the flip side, after Andromeda and Ted left, following their last report on this matter in late March, the former Death Eater was faced with two very intent looks from Marius and Leona, who'd been a lot less eager to drag him into conversations up to that point after the argument during Boxing Day.

Let it never be said that Regulus Arcturus Black did not know how to face a problem head-on. "I suppose this is the part where you say that it was all very Slytherin of me, but that I should know better than to think I'd get away with it when everyone knows I was in Slytherin."

To which Leona responded by walking over and hugging him for all he was worth. "I'm really proud of you Regulus."

When she let him go, the slightly dazed young man was faced with a very stern-looking great-uncle. "I don't think I'll ever agree with your reasoning for still keeping hidden from everyone but us four." He held out his hand. "But I'm willing to take back some of what I said. You're not a coward. I was wrong about that and I'm glad you gave me a reason to admit it." The wizard shook the offered hand but was surprised to be pulled in a half-hug. "I'm proud of you too. As long as you're careful, I'll support whatever you're doing in any way I can."

After the embarrassing situation passed (which took a few good minutes), Regulus was seriously considering the offer. "We can bring Ted and Andromeda into this, since they aren't in the Order and if Dumbledore hasn't Leglilimensed my being here out of them yet, he probably won't at this point." Producing his wand from his sleeve, he sent out a wordless summoning charm that brought a piece of paper flying from the second floor. "If you're serious about helping me, you can buy these ingredients for me next time you're in Diagon Alley. Don't get a potion set though. It would look suspicious for squibs to get one. Ask Ted or Andromeda for theirs. I think I'll need Andromeda's help since my potion scores were never the best."

Marius looked the list over. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing." Was the sincere answer. "I'm just getting around to enacting one of the contingencies I came up with a few weeks ago. Hopefully it won't ever be needed, but wishful thinking really hasn't been my thing since second year."

Over the next month, Regulus would have to endure deadpan comments about his mysterious contingency being "really something" if it involved him illegally portkeying to the other side of Europe, but he would bear it. Sarcasm was his expertise. If Marius and Leona ever_ dared _think they could out-snark him, they would have to live with the disappointment.


	4. Chapter 3: The Great Black Hunter

**Chapter 3: The Great Black Hunter**

"-. .-"

A slight fluttering of the window curtain was the only sign that something untoward had occurred at Number 23 John Street, Sheffield, South Yorkshire. Untoward because no window was open to justify the faint breeze that caused the small disturbance.

00:00 became 00:01.

The disillusioned wizard was long past the point where he wondered why he never thought about this combination of featherweight and sticking charms before his "death." Standing, or in this case crouching, upside-down on the ceiling as though it was a regular occurrence _was_, in fact, a regular occurrence. As was summoning what seemed to be the most precious toy of the child sleeping in the bed right below him. "Portus," he murmured.

He didn't really need to whisper. There was no chance of the little girl waking up. He'd sent a sleeping spell at her the instant he was in the room, so he could even shout the incantation without worry if he wanted. On the other hand, at the rate he was going, he believed he would actually reach the point where he could wordlessly perform the enchantment, and silent spells were always good to know.

He didn't always have the time to charm all the clothes in the house. Some peoples' wardrobes were just ludicrous in their size. He'd have loved to Portus the clothes of every child in the country, but he couldn't really hope to do that, and children wouldn't really be much help when it came to telling the Aurors where to go, so he settled for the things likeliest to be with them at all times, just like he did with the glasses of everyone who wore them. That meant toys, underwear and socks.

Levitating the portkey-Teddy back in the bed next to the girl, he was about to move on when he spotted something on the end table near the bed. Indulging his curiosity for once, he apparated to the corresponding wall and "sat back" against it. Feather-light as he was, the wandless sticking charms on his boots and back, which were ingrained in reflex at this point, could hold him there easily, despite not being all that powerful.

He looked at what he thought was a children's book and realized he was only half-right in his assumption. Wandlessly summoning it, he read the title in the dim moonlight: MWOM. Or "The Mighty World Of Marvel" for short. Eyebrows raised, he leafed through it and had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Muggles really had a wonderful imagination if they could invent fictional characters with abilities not unlike those he was using right that moment. The Invisible Woman even seemed to have a perfect version of the disillusionment charm he had on.

With a mental note to look up Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four sooner rather than later, he replaced the comic book and, after a brief stop in the girl's brother's room (who seemed to have a mountain of those comics), apparated to the master bedroom where the parents were sleeping.

It was June 14, 1980. Regulus' wardrobe portkey-ing had progressed from one muggle per neighborhood to one muggle family per apartment building (in the case of towns or cities) or one per lane (in suburbs). Since the so-called "muggle raids" that Voldemort carried out consisted of Death Eaters being set loose on random neighborhoods and villages, the "mortal peril" clause usually came into play for everyone whenever the Death Eaters appeared in the area.

The MOM had at least devised a quick method of figuring out where the Muggles were from whenever they suddenly got dumped in the middle of the Ministry Atrium (calming charm followed by compulsion charm to answer questions, usually "who are you, where are you from," etc.). They had a couple of teams stationed there permanently just for this purpose.

That done, a squad of aurors and an obliviator portkeyed or apparated back to the settlement of origin along with the person.

There _had_ been the occasional instance of a peasant activating the "mortal peril" clause because he was about to be trampled by a horse, or a townsman about to be hit by a vehicle. Nevertheless, most had to do with dark wizards. It had already been months since a noticeable improvement in Auror response time to Death Eater attacks had become evident. Regulus didn't know if Voldemort had realized the 'Phenomenon' had expanded to include random muggles, or if he believed the Ministry had designed some means of detecting his minions' activities across Great Britain.

Maybe the half-blood bastard would start thinking there was a spy in his inner circle. And _then_ maybe he'd suspect everyone and torture his "servants" enough that one of them would crack and become a double agent just so he'd at least deserve the torture, pardon, "punishment" being inflicted on him or her. Regulus didn't know who'd managed to convince the Ministry to say nothing about the muggle portkeying, but he was glad for it. Having the Daily Prophet laying the situation out for Voldemort would have been a shame.

That Voldemort had apparently not found out meant the Department of Mysteries was keeping Rookwood more out of the loop than usual too. Maybe that list of Death Eater members he passed on to the Order was actually being used for something, Regulus thought.

By the time he was finished, it was 00:50 in the morning. He'd managed to charm all the clothes in the house this time, and he'd cast Portus on all the doorknobs and handles in the flat as well, along with Clause-activated sticking charms (his own inventions) to make sure the people wouldn't lose contact in-transit. Tied into the portkeys as they were, they would only fail to activate if anti-portkey wards went up. Since he could stick around until 01:00 before moving to the next destination, he went around the apartment and cast Portus and the same type of conditional sticking charms on the rugs and mats too, as well as the telephone receiver.

The portkeys _would_ go off even in case of muggle criminals breaking in with the intent to murder, but Regulus saw no problem with that at all.

Finally, just 2 minutes to five, he conjured a piece of rope and made a portkey for his next destination. He'd repeat the process each time, even when going home. He _had_ considered just making a permanent one and carrying it around, but he decided against it. While the odds of him being caught in the act and apprehended by either side in the war were very, very low, they were still there, and Regulus wasn't going to provide anyone with a direct path to the home of the people who'd taken him in. Convenience wasn't worth the potential destruction of Marius and Leona's lives.

Nothing was.

The nearly invisible intruder finally apparated to a standing position in the middle of the entrance hallway, looked around once and tapped the portkey to pull him away.

As soon as he finished his rounds and got home, he'd prepare breakfast, eat some of it and then go get a few hours of sleep after placing the rest of the food under warming charms for when Marius and Leona woke up around eight.

01:00 became 01:01.

"-. .-"

When he'd initially visited Sirius' home, Regulus didn't really have a timetable set up in his mind for when he could drop by the place again, though he did have a vague idea about how much time he should let pass before dropping by a second time. Sirius going almost mental because of the negative effect the portkeys had on his job, and his decision to buy a new wardrobe every week if it kept up for much longer, forced the younger brother to revise his plan.

So when he visited the man's home again (while he was on duty), Regulus used a different clause for the portkeys. Instead of "mortal peril" he used "severely injured." He also added the obligatory alarm charm that would make a very distinctive feeling of static pass through him (Regulus that is) should the portkey be prevented from activating for more than five seconds.

The initial impulse was to add alarm charms for everything from "lightly bruised" to "critically wounded," but he had to remind himself that Sirius didn't need babysitting and that the man _was_ the elder and deserved being shown more respect and faith. Besides, Regulus wouldn't have been able to get anything else done if he was expected to show up and watch from the shadows every skirmish Sirius got involved in as a Hit Wizard. Especially during a war of all things.

Since Andromeda had told him that the ministry had begun to do something similar for its aurors, Regulus only made similar visits, minus the alarm charms, to whoever he thought Voldemort would go after. He would repeat the visits once every few months, once every month for Sirius.

Unless he got a good reason to break routine and do it earlier, like now. "Wait, what? Did you just say the Potters have decided to go into hiding? Why would they do that?" That cleared it. He'd have to Portus the hell out of Sirius' belonging as soon as possible. The Death Eaters would be after him, thinking he'd know where the Potters would be.

Andromeda twisted a strand of her hair around a finger. It was the only sign that she was on edge. "I'm not sure. All I know is that Dumbledore has reason to think You-Know-Who is specifically targeting them. The only reason we were even told about this is because he asked us if our home could be used as a safe house."

Regulus frowned and saw that Marius and Leona were thoughtful as they sat in their own chairs. "As _a_ safe house? And why you? You're not in the Order."

Ted was even less overt about his worry than his wife. "I think that's exactly why. Seems like your guess that there might be a spy in the Order was true, or became true in the meantime. Dumbledore suspects at least one person has been compromised. He doesn't want anyone but him and the ones at the safe house knowing where the Potters are, besides Remus and Sirius."

A silent gust of air left the chair empty. Regulus was in front of the fireplace, pacing, one hand on his chin and the other behind his back. "The plan is sound, in theory, but it won't help root out the spy at all, if there is one." He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't see just how attentive the others had become when they saw his thinking face. "But... this doesn't make sense at all." Stopping, he looked at the two visiting wizards. "How exactly does Dumbledore know Voldemort has that sensitive information? It's suspicious."

The Tonks looked surprised at the question. "He didn't say."

"And you didn't ask, right?" The youngest asked wryly. "So Dumbledore won't share what the information is, how the information reached Voldemort and how he knows the information reached Voldemort. Need-to-know basis _does_ have a point beyond which it borders on the absurd, you know?"

Ted scoffed. "We'll let _you_ tell him so if you want."

"Do the Potters at least know everything they should? _Really_ should, not 'Dumbledore says they should.'?"

Andromeda grimaced. "We don't know that either."

Regulus didn't groan. He _didn't_. "Didn't you tell me James and Lily just had a baby? Does Dumbledore intend for them to keep running off from one place to another even after that? Becausehe _must_ want the safe house to be changed regularly, right? Otherwise he may as well just buy a random muggle house and have them move in without telling anyone about it."

Ted nodded. "Yes, that's the plan for now."

Regulus sighed and apparated back to his chair. "I'm guessing you said yes? Why does it have to be you though?"

"We said we'd think about it before agreeing to such a potentially dangerous situation," Ted said awkwardly. "As for your second question, I think it was because we're both healers and could help with whatever might come up regarding the little one, and Andromeda has experience with Nymphadora and could help Lily get a hang of things."

He smirked. "How did the old goat take your lack of instant assent though?"

Andromeda sighed. "His face didn't give anything away. He was congenial the entire time and said James and Lily still had some preparations and packing to do so we can take a day or two to come up with an answer. Sirius was the one who got upset and almost fell over himself trying to apologize about suggesting us without even asking."

Ted took over, looking at Regulus intently. "We're thinking of saying yes, but we have our own daughter to worry about, and she's only seven. We wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to make a couple of portkeys for us? I'm sure Dumbledore will offer something of the sort, and we'll accept but..."

"We trust your skills in this area better," Andromeda said, leaving Regulus somewhat flabbergasted at having his skill deemed superior to that of Albus Dumbledore of all people. Not that he showed it. "And we'd also want to ask if you'd agree to do your mass portkey trick on Nymphadora's things? I'd rather she know nothing about how serious this all is, and asking a 7 year-old to always carry something around, well..."

Regulus looked surprised. "Are you kidding? You mean you actually think I haven't already done that to every single article of clothing you own?" There was an awkward silence. "What, as if I'd be worried about your privacy during a war! It's because of me this happened. If I hadn't shown up, you two wouldn't have had a reason to become so active in the wizarding world. You said you'd never even seen Sirius since being disowned before I came into the picture, and you were supposed to be his favorite cousin. Of course I Portus-ed your whole wardrobes." He thought. "And rugs, and mats, and door handles." He thought a again. "I've been there four times now."

Ted and Andromeda stared, but were a bit too dignified to pull off goldfish imitations. Ted recovered first. "Well you don't need to be so smug about it!" He huffed and crossed his arms. "When was the last time you broke into our house?"

The younger man beamed as Marius and Leona covered their smirks with their cups of tea. "Last week you, Ted, were at the clinic, and Andromeda was with your daughter at the Goldsteins', but for me it was Tuesday! I just went there during the day instead of the night." The former death eater waved lazily. "Only had to add a dozen Portkeys or so, since you didn't buy too many things since last time."

Ted ducked his head in despair as Andromeda sighed dramatically. "How did you know where to go?"

"Disillusioned myself one day and followed your apparition trail," Regulus answered cheerfully. "Then I followed the tracking charm that, by the way Ted, is still on your belt buckle."

Everyone except Andromeda laughed as the man got to his feet and started to cast "Finite" on it. "How did I not find it? I always cast magic-revealing charms on my things before putting them on!"

Regulus didn't show his surprise but filed that tiny bit of information to be examined at a later date. "Trade secret! And yes, you can rest assured that the portkey spell _won't_ be damaged by your Finites, but good job for asking first!"

Ted froze.

Then palmed his forehead and sunk back in the couch, defeat written all over his face. "I need a headache-relieving potion."

Andromeda must have decided there would be no point in asking if _she_ had any tracking charms on. "I assume _all_ of his other belts are similarly charmed?"

Regulus shrugged. "Luck favors the prepared."

"-. .-"

A wave of electricity jolted him awake and, for a few moments, he only blinked and stared dumbly at the ceiling, not understanding what had happened. Glancing at the calendar next to the door, he saw August 22, 1980, with no special annotations. Nothing special was supposed to happen on that particular day. A look at the alarm clock showed 10:20 PM. Marvelous, he'd had his pre-portkey-spamming nap interrupted, and by a strange feeling of static no less...

Then it was like a switch had been pressed in his head and he kicked the duvet away. "KREACHER!"

The wizened elf popped into the room just as Regulus apparated in front of the wall opposite the bed, adrenaline flooding every single muscle fiber under his skin. "Kreacher is here master Regulus."

A wave of the wizard's hand made the illusion on the wall fade, revealing the compartment hidden there. "Kreacher," He pulled out his black dueling attire, and boots, retrieved from Grimmauld Place months before, and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. "Robe me."

It wasn't vanity. There simply wasn't a faster way to get dressed than house elf magic. "As master commands." The elf promptly snapped his fingers, and the dragon hide battle robes vanished and were replaced by the sleepwear Regulus had been clad in a moment before.

Black silk shirt, long sleeves. Soft but sturdy dragonhide vest and trousers, plus knee-high boots. The over-robe only had the upper part made of dragonskin, and had been modified into a black long coat that wouldn't look out of place in the muggle world and had the advantage of looking a lot better too. And since the dragonskin was essentially sandwiched between two outer layers was made of smooth acromantula silk and suede, respectively, there was no way to tell it had an extra protective purpose. It made the coat much more flexible and allowed it to be transfigured if needed.

The large silver serpent, etched in real silver paint on his back, glinted in the low light coming from the lamppost outside, but Regulus wouldn't have looked at it even if he could have seen it. He was too preoccupied with strapping his belt.

Once the buckle was in place and the wand holster was on his forearm, he flicked his wand. His nonverbal packing spell had various potion vials flying into the utility pouches that had obligingly opened to receive them. Only the Veritaserum (which Andromeda had raised both eyebrows at when asked to brew it) was left undisturbed. Once the last small flask was in, he grabbed a larger flask and uncapped it.

Ignoring the foul smell, Regulus grabbed a human hair at random and added it to the potion. During the five seconds it took for it to be absorbed fully, he looked at the "label," which was really just a roll of paper that held the hairs in place: Greece, Caucasian male, middle-aged, dirty blond, athletic build, height 6.2 ft.

If he was going to steal the appearance of anyone, he made it a point of there being no chance of Death Eaters running into the random muggle and thinking it was him that defied them. The best way to ensure that was to look outside England for hairs, hence the deadpan comments about his contingency.

Spelling the flask to be unbreakable, Regulus looked at the clock: 10:25. Five minutes. _Too slow!_ He cursed in his mind, taking a large dose of the Polyjuice potion. Ignoring the horrible nausea that accompanied the transformation, Regulus tied the flask to his belt, summoned the shrunken broom and pocketed it, decided against holstering his wand and, when the throes of the metamorphosis ended, pulled his hood over his head, noting the feel of cold water that engulfed his face as the obscuring charm covered it. Once he was sure no one would see anything but a black, glimmering void when looking at his face, he dismissed Kreacher and disapparated.

The first thing that met him when he rematerialized in the out-of-the-way alley in London was a wave of hot air that smelled of brimstone and made his hair prickle with the feeling of concentrated magic. Biting back the sounds that wanted to make their way past his throat, he translocated to the end of the alley, though he stayed hidden there and looked up, wide-eyed. The scene of blazing red and yellow almost made him fail his wordless disillusionment.

The windows on the entire building had shattered outward, as though some huge shockwave had come from within, but the more worrisome part was the fire that had engulfed all the floors except the bottom one. The air thrummed with the heat and no silence could fall when rock and wood cracked under its onslaught. Smoke poured out from behind each piece of shattered glass still clinging to the window frames.

Regulus let out an involuntary gasp when a young woman, probably just past her twentieth year, came stumbling out of the front doors, or what was left of them. She was limping and covered in soot. She didn't even see the angry red cutting curse that hit her in the torso and split it open from shoulder to hip. Her face showed only surprise as she collapsed. Regulus didn't see the source.

Regulus couldn't tear his sight away from the scene. His blue-grey yes stayed on her until she fell completely, and it was then that he saw the many other bodies littering the street and sidewalk in front of the apartment block. There must have been over a dozen dead.

A drowned-out boom from inside the building, two stories up, broke the wizard out of his trance. The shock melted and came together in a calm pool, then began to frost over, then froze completely. The former death eater stonily traced a pattern through the air with his wand and pushed his magic as far as he could push it. "Homenum Revelio."

Information filled his mind, and he could even see the 28 life signs for a second or two, like green outlines, even through several walls of brick and mortar. A couple, the only residents still alive, were unmoving in the flaming building, but they quickly disappeared when two others moved in the same area as them. Regulus growled silently. The bastards were using flame-freezing charms to search the building and kill everyone they could. The lack of a Dark Mark in the sky was the only reassuring thing in that whole disaster. It meant the Death Eaters hadn't killed Sirius yet, or found him.

Before he could get a closer look at where he knew Sirius' apartment was, the spell ended. he'd seen enough though. With nary a sound marking his teleportation, he was crouched on the wall of the building two streets away, less than a meter above the single Death Eater that hadn't gone inside. The obvious lookout had taken to killing whoever ran out of the building just to soothe his annoyance over being left out of the main hunt. The silent apparition had been masked by the noise and the distant sirens of fire and police trucks easily.

He almost gave into the impulse of silently conjuring his Silver Rapier and driving it right down, between the sections of the bastard's clavicle, straight through the lung and heart. The wound would be so fine and narrow that it would take the bastard a while to die, and it would be better than he deserved.

Regulus didn't really know why he chose otherwise, but he did. Pointing his wand straight down (right in front of him in that position) he spoke loud and clearly, even though he didn't need do. "Everbero." The satisfaction was hidden by the illusory shroud as the death eater was repeatedly pummeled by invisible bludgeons, but it was unmistakably there.

A second bludgeoning hex had the side-effect of knocking that hideous silver skull mask off. The face of the squinty-eyed, black-clad man was unfamiliar to Regulus. A new recruit then. Regulus tried not to feel disappointed. He'd have loved to see the look on one of his former "comrades" faces when they saw him looking like he did.

Through it all, the silent Silencio did well in preventing the death eater's obvious screams and gasps from being heard. "Hello there, worthless scum." Regulus greeted, pureblood prince drawl fully in place as he silently apparated right in front of the moaning, fallen, battered human. A silent _Incarcerous_ wrapped him tightly in ropes and a wordless summoning charm brought his wand into Regulus' hand.

The Black scion made a point of pretending to snap it in half right in front of his shocked, fearful eyes, but he figured the DMLE would want to check it for evidence. With a sticking charm, he made sure the wand would stay on the back of the fallen enemy, before summoning the skull mask with a wave of his hand. "Portus." The familiar blue light surrounded the skull helmet, so the wizard quickly levitated it back on the death eater's head. "Have a fun stay in Azkaban."

It had taken less than 30 seconds.

The murderer was whisked away to the Ministry Atrium and Regulus cast the human presence revealing spell again, detecting only Death Eaters and one other living person within. As information filled him, he wondered at the fear in the eyes of the death eater he'd just dispatched. He supposed he looked quite formidable, all black and shrouded in darkness, silhouetted against a blazing inferno.

Maybe he could use that. Who knew, maybe if he showed off enough, Voldemort would start looking for his new 'enemy' and lay off the Potters and everyone else he'd been going after lately.

An explosion snapped him out of his focus and he looked up, where a death eater had just been blasted out a window along with shattered pieces of wood and glass. Spellfire could be heard and seen even through the red haze. Hope soared inside Regulus, but before he could decide between going after the Death Eater falling from the fourth floor and apparating at the source, a distinctly _not_ magical noise drowned out everything else.

Then a second time, then _louder_ if possible and Regulus only _just_ remembered the expanded room full of tools in his brother's apartment when he finally understood what it had been for.

An engine roared loudly enough to be overheard everywhere as a white 1959 Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville blasted like a rocket out the window on the fourth floor of the flaming building, right overhead. "Bombarda Maxima!" A flash of silver streaked through the space behind it, rending trails of smoke apart and disappearing into the building that the motorbike had just flown from.

Even the pavement shook with the force of the spell as the entire room exploded with a nearly deafening crash.

The younger Black avoided death by collapsing debris through apparition to the top of the building two blocks away, just in time to see Sirius land heavily on the street leading away from the apartment block. Skill or magic prevented a fatal crash and Sirius swerved around an upturned car, then a normally parked one and, finally, around the bend and onto the road leading to downtown London.

Not ten seconds later, Regulus' hopes that Voldemort's followers would shy away from pursuing Sirius through muggle London were dashed. A dozen dark wizards on broomsticks shot out of the flaming, collapsing building in pursuit.

Not saying a word, Regulus took out his broom, enlarged it and hopped on it, the soles of his feet going rigid on contact as his sticking charms took hold. He was really sad flying carpets were banned in England for no good reason. With a thought, he apparated, standing upright on the broom's rod, twenty feet above the level of the pursuing Death Eaters. He bent his knees, shooting after his brother as if riding a skateboard. His wand made contact with the top of his head and he disappeared from sight, confident the darkness of the night would conceal his disillusioned form from all eyes.

By the looks of things, the half-blood bastard's minions were having trouble keeping up with Sirius' insane bike stunts even from just above the normal building height. Regulus smirked as he leaned to the side, avoiding a residential tower block and changing flight patterns. After tracking snitches as a seeker during Quidditch matches, keeping up with Sirius on a gleaming silver motorbike during a mad dash down the well lit streets of London was only mildly challenging, even from that height.

He still couldn't prevent a gape when Sirius made a sharp, 180 degree turn in the middle of heavy traffic and switched to the other lane, streaking in between the cars coming from that direction before sharply leaning to the side, cutting another tight corner and disappearing between two, long buildings that were just a meter or so apart. At this rate, Sirius would shake them off on his own and he wouldn't have to do anything more.

Wondering why the masked bastards didn't think of the same, Regulus cut the distance by apparating in the sky above the alley's mouth and resuming chase, disillusioning himself again. One of these days he'd have to figure out how to prevent the charm from falling due to apparition, assuming it was possible.

He kept one eye on the Death Eaters though, and their next action made him frown. Despite Sirius having almost shaken them off when he swerved from that alley to another, disappearing from their sight, the pursuers only stopped for a moment before taking off in the correct direction. "Tracking charm," the younger brother whispered to himself from his higher vantage point.

The question of what the charm had been placed on and when took a backseat when Regulus realized something else: the portkeys he'd made, and which Sirius was wearing at least one of, had still not activated. The alarm charm went off when the same clause as that of the portkey failed to, which meant that something was still preventing the enchantment from working. What had those bastards done?

Regulus figured that Sirius was hurt when the first explosions happened and might have managed to use some healing on himself and made the "severely injured" clause go dormant while still within the confines of anti-portkey wards. But between the bruises, burns and dry blood he could see now that he'd descended to get a closer look, he doubted his brother had gotten the chance. The Death Eaters can't have given him much time either way, searching the burning building as they had been.

It was enough to make him consider he'd have to blow his cover and engage the squibspawn's minions himself. Since there was a person who could track the charm on Sirius, it was probably him or her that cast the tracker, so apprehending them would remove the danger.

Then he gaped and clumsily turned when Sirius made another one of those reality-defying swerves and entered a side-alley that finished in a dead end. Cursing under his breath, he was about to mutter something about Sirius apparently not knowing muggle London as well as he seemed to when he got the first real reason to panic.

His brother wasn't slowing down.

It was like watching a train wreck. Horrifying, mind-numbingly shocking and yet somehow impossible to tear your eyes way from it. Sirius drove forward, accelerated to the maximum and then hit the breaks, leaning backwards and pulling the front of his bike along, looking every bit as though he was going to start riding up the wall.

With a crack and blast of raw magic, the motorbike left the pavement. Sirius pushed the accelerator all the way through, just as his bike slammed into the wall wheels-first...

... and then proceeded to ride up the wall as if it had always been meant to do that.

The roar of the engine got cleared the higher the bike came, like a dragon rising from the depths of a volcanic lair. The bike picked up speed with every meter it ascended and then the 20-story building suddenly came to an end.

The death eater broomstick pursuit squad broke ranks when Sirius shot up from below like a cannonball, right in their midst. One of them lost his hold on his broom and fell with a muffled scream. Regulus didn't pay attention, nor did he care if he would remember to apparate or cast Arresto Momentum before completing the process of plummeting to his death. More interesting was the sight of Sirius Orion Black righting himself and spinning on his two wheels as though he were on the highway, outlined perfectly against the half-moon. It was like the sky had chosen to be miraculously clear of London's normal pollution on that particular night just so that scene would be possible.

_Damn_, his brother was cool! The _definition_ of the word.

The Hit Wizard was above them now, one hand on the helm of the flying motorcycle and the other mid-swing.

A whip of yellow fire snapped through the air. Ten meters long, it was just enough to strike one of the pursuers across the chest and curl around the broomstick handle.

There was no explanation for the pregnant lull in movement, but then there was a mighty heave and a second broom fell to the wrath of Sirius Black. The scream of terror of the falling wizard was garbled this time, and before the remaining ten enemies recovered from their shock, the motorbike was moving again, dodging the red curse of the only enemy still in control of their senses and flying up and around them, the roar of the engine louder with each second that passed.

It was only when the flaming whip appeared a second time that Regulus was finally pulled out of his trance of brotherly awe. Simply because Sirius actually _missed_. The flaming whip cracked against empty air, and when the death eaters scattered and Sirius missed _again_, Regulus felt a wave of worry descend upon him. There was no _excuse_ for his aim to be so bad, or for him to forget he knew dozens of other attack spells better suited for that situation...

..._Unless_ he was too hurt and blurry-eyed to move and aim anything properly, and the flaming whip was the only thing with a hope of actually hitting anything.

_The first whip strike,_ Regulus realized. Sirius had paused after the whip knotted around the broom because he was surprised he'd actually hit. The younger brother blanched. Sirius had been _bleeding_ even when he was storming down the main road.

Then a loathed, familiar woman's voice screeched a command, and a bunch of stunners blasted in Sirius' direction all at once.

Sirius was faster, shooting from his spot like a silver missile, straight up. The woman yelled in manic anger and hurled stunner and disarming charms that barely missed Sirius as he ascended and dodged to the left and right, preventing the pursuing enemies from closing in.

Regulus disapparated.

And when he appeared, just outside the skirmish, his wand was almost through the motion of his intended spell, just as Sirius made a desperate lunge and sent a cutting curse -Lacero!- right behind and below him. "Deprimo," he whispered.

A blast of cold air caught Bellatrix Lestrange by surprise and hurled her off her trajectory...

...right into the path of the curse that eagerly cut apart her silver mask, left a gash on her face and proceeded to rend the shaft of her broomstick into two, perfect halves, length-wise. "Aaargh!" The others came to a screeching halt as she struck another Death Eater on her way down, knocking him off his broom as well and yelling bloody murder. "After him idiooooots!" Regulus was sure her insane scream of impotent rage was heard all the way down to the London underground.

Bellatrix punched the minion clinging to her and disapparated. The youngest Black didn't even pay attention to the falling hapless fool as he himself apparated straight up. "Contego!" Three stunners and a disarming charm splashed against the translucent shield that sprung behind his brother. If he needed any confirmation that the Death Eaters were deliberately trying not to damage the motorbike, he'd received it in spades. "Is this a private party, or can anybody join in?"

Sirius was black and blue all over. Blood caked the left side of his head, staining his long, curly hair a dark red, intermittently visible in the light of the spellfire. Having turned back facing the Earth, he was hunched forward, one hand gripping the helm of the motorbike in a steel grip and his right clutching his wand, knuckles white. His clothes were casual, burned at the seams -the Death Eaters had caught him unprepared, in little to no protection- and there was a red stain on his side, and blood seeping from a would on his thigh.

He was staring at Regulus in open-mouthed shock, and the latter was glad he'd apparated to his left instead of his wand side. Sirius might have cursed him otherwise, because of the way he was dressed if nothing else. "Deprimo!" the younger roared, buffeting the approaching dark wizards hard enough to send two spinning uncontrollably. "You need to land! Secor!" He shouted, sending a tracking charm at the bike. "Your bike has been hexed!"

"What?"

Regulus figured he had every cause to be annoyed as both of them flew away from each other, stunners passing harmlessly through the spaces they'd just occupied. And it wasn't because of the enemies, but Sirius. Sure, he didn't know who he was and all, but after years of no contact, "What?" was the first and best thing he could think of saying?

With a thought, he disappeared out of the way of an entrail-expelling curse, and the air moved to let his space-jump deposit him parallel to Sirius, who was flying at a speed so much faster than before that Regulus considered seating himself on his broom normally, just to be able to fly properly and fast enough to keep up. "I said _land_ somewhere! Pick a spot!"

Sirius's flight pattern was disturbed as his fright made him jolt. He'd not realized he was there. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Father Christmas and his reindeer Rudolph!" Regulus answered sarcastically, basically crouching on his broom shaft now. "Let's try this another way. Have you tried and failed to disapparate yet? Relashio!" Regulus smirked behind the illusory void as the death eater's hold on his broom was forced loose. And as he fell, the Black scion couldn't help but think that gravity was such a beautiful thing.

Sirius shook his head jerkily, as if doing his best to keep a clear head. "Flagrante!" His burning curse hit home clearly but his eyes never left the black magician flying alongside him, even as more screams disturbed the relative silence of the night.

Regulus tried to disapparate but, as he though, the proximity to the bike prevented the normal method. His eyes met Sirius', though the latter couldn't see them, and the younger one was glad the concealing charm on his hood hid his unnerved face from view. "Somehow a disapparition ward has been placed on your bike -Portego Horribilis!- and since the portkeys I put on your clothes -Impedimenta!- haven't activated, it means a portkey prevention ward is active as well!"

The Hit Wizard went open-mouthed for the second time that night. "You! It's you!" His eyes were wide as saucers. "You're the one that's-" he ducked as a red beam of light passed over him. "You've been creating all those portkeys!"

"Later!" Leaving his spot, the former seeker closed in. "You need to land and ditch the bike! Don't start protesting! Unless you want to keep dancing with them all night!"

Somehow, Sirius refrained from saying anything, though he looked at his bike despairingly.

Regulus smiled fondly and pointed his wand at his brother's leg. "Ferula." Two conjured sticks grew and stuck to the sides of the bone he'd only noticed was broken, and bandages wrapped them tightly in place. Hoping that won him enough trust points, he aimed at his forehead next. "Episkey." The skin healed, stopping the bleeding. He couldn't do anything about the concussion mid-flight, but he could still do a few things. "Go. I'll try to keep them busy."

Not waiting for a response, Regulus grabbed the shaft of his broom and pulled hard on it. It sent him into a steep, rolling backwards dive. Between that and the speed of the Death Eaters' approach, he ended up a hundred yards in front of them in short order. Righting himself, he grabbed the hem of his black coat and swung it like it was a cloth of a toreador. "Engorgio," the muttered spell made it grow a hundred-fold.

It was enough to block out the moon. The death eaters gave out startled yelps as they rushed to a stop or to evade, but he couldn't focus on them. Before his coat lost its momentum and formed into a sort of fold, his wand had completed the motions for another spell."Avis!" Dozens of ravens streamed from his wand, and they flew around him, a mental command preventing them from scattering aimlessly. "Accio." The edge of his giant cape rolled on itself, following Regulus' motion as he spun, his broomstick obligingly following. "Reducio." The coat contracted size, gathering the ravens with it.

There was a single moment of silence when Regulus looked at his opposition. He counted four but was too tense to curse the absence of the other two. As his wand traced a spiral and his arm switched to envelop the world, like a lasso, he shouted "Turbo!" A tornado shred the atmosphere just as the ravens crowed and poured forth. The wind funnel sounded like rough sand on glass as it enveloped them all, and the ravens rushed to accompany it, filling the space within the storm and crowding the Death Eaters who'd foolishly closed in, hoping for easy shots.

The wind wasn't really that dangerous, but it did act as a great incentive not to fly too freely. A perfect way to get them to come together. The ravens, a living vortex themselves, pecked and cawed at them, throwing off their aim. And though all four -Crucio! Lacero! Traumata! Confrigo!- cast curses where they hoped was his form, nearly invisible in the black of night, the second it took for the spells to reach him were more than sufficient for him to apparate to the other side of the literal eye of the storm. A second Reducio contracted his clothes the rest of the way before "Lumos Maxima!"

The night was illuminated as though a star had just exploded in their midst. He could feel the brightness hurt his eyes even through his eyelids, tightly shut, but when he opened them he could still see enough to apparate right behind the nearest dark wizard. "Expelliarmus! Incercerous! Accio wand!" Catching the wooden stick, he blocked a hasty disarming spell with a quick "Protego." Well, if the witch wanted him to ignore her now freefalling "comrade" who was he to deny her?

He snapped the wand and disapparated. "Stupefy!" Another one down. Then a second stunner, a silent one, caught the next-to-last wizard between the eyes. He fell along with the downed witch, the whirlwind drowning out the flaps of their cloaks even as it wound down. Maybe he should have some portkeys always prepared, for when he bagged more of these goons. "Avada Keda-" But a raven chose that exact time to peck the dark wizard in the eye.

Regulus watched, bemused, as the unfamiliar man lost his balance and the hold of his wand, joining his fellows in a long dive.

The former death eater was about to congratulate himself on a job well done. Four opponents by himself was not too bad... but then he remembered that out of the 24 Death Eaters that had gone into the building after Sirius, only 12 had come out, and the man had taken out two more soon after, even beaten up as he was.

_Bloody hell, Sirius!_ Two Death Eaters were unaccounted for, which meant they'd not broken pursuit. _Dammit! _"Consequor." A ping in his head told him what direction he should take. Facing it, he chose the highest building and focused.

His apparition left him momentarily deafened, but when the air rushed back to fill the space, the familiar noise of the motorbike reached his ears. Shooting after it, he spotted it, pretty high up too, just as Sirius heaved to the side to avoid a bludgeoner, but ended up right in the way of a disarmer... which ended up doing absolutely nothing besides forcing his right hand open, seeing as how the wand stuck to his palm like glue.

Regulus' eyebrows went a bit higher than usual even as willed his broom to accelerate. Looks like he wasn't the only one using wandless sticking charms for things. Seeker eyes tracked the pursuers from where he was flying, a dozen meters closer to the Earth, locking full intent on one of them. The wind in his ears made it so that he barely heard himself enunciating the incantation. "Accio cloaked bastard's broomstick." The drain on his magic was palpable, but the cry of fear as the Death Eater toppled head over heels and only _just_ managed to keep a hold of the broom handle was satisfying.

The broom only buckled momentarily and went back to normal. The predicament of the fool enraged the other one though. "Bombarda!" Sirius leaned his bike to the right and abruptly turned out of the way, the headlight of his bike falling on the Death Eater, casting his features in sharp relief. "Adflicto!" he yelled hoarsely, just as the enemy shouted "Convello!"

Orange and purple spells traveled the distance and struck their marks.

The death eater's head exploded.

And the purple curse got Sirius precisely in the middle of the right shoulder.

Regulus didn't remember feeling as distressed as he did when the cry of pain left Sirius' lips.

The older Black nearly fell of his bike, but caught himself. It was then that both he and his unseen sibling realized a certain fact: he'd lost hold of his wand. The sticking charm must have been disrupted by the spell or by the pain.

Regulus panicked and started looking around, but even his eyes couldn't find a small, sheen-less falling stick in the middle of the night, even one as clear and moon-lit as this.

Sirius drove his bike right towards the buildings far below, keeping his left hand, the off-hand, on the helm just enough to set the direction. Then he let go and reached outward, fingers stretched to the limit, and shut his eyes in concentration.

The younger one watched dumbly as the man and his bike descended like a chrome meteor, not slowing down an ounce, even as the concrete top of the block got closer and closer. The right shoulder had clearly been wrenched out of place, and yet the man paid it no attention. It was like he cared for nothing but the arm he could still use.

Twenty meters from impact, a black blur flew through the night air. Sirius' fingers clenched around his returning wand as though it were a lifeline. Hastily, he wrapped his elbow around the helm and pulled up, avoiding a fatal crash by a margin of just a couple of meters. He pulled higher then, gritting his teeth, until the last Death Eater, which had just climbed back on his broom, was in his sight. "Expulso!" It missed the man, but not his broom. The wood exploded between his legs, and Regulus couldn't stop a wince as sharp, screeching screams of agony sounded in the darkness.

The young wizard waited for the silence to fall again, and watched. Sirius was gasping for breath, sweat pouring off of him. With tormented movements, he slowly moved his wand with his off-hand and muttered something, then pressed the tip against his dislocated joint. A gasp of pain just wasn't loud enough to cover up the popping noise of the shoulder bones resetting themselves.

Shivering, the Hit Wizard carefully returned his wand to a pocket in his shirt, and gingerly guided his bike towards the greenery to the north. Regulus recognized it as Richmond Park. As good a place to land as any, he supposed, especially since Sirius was about to go into shock.

He followed but kept a safe distance, contemplating. He thought he'd made a lot of progress in his grasp of magic over the past year, learning wordless and perfecting the wandless magic he knew... but seeing all Sirius had done tonight made him realize he'd only been struggling to catch up all along. He'd taken out five Death Eaters, counting the watchman, while Sirius had handled twenty, _twenty_. Admittedly, some of those must have died when the building fell on them, but Sirius had brought it down. And then, when he was looking like he had nothing left in him, he performed a wandless summoning charm Regulus doubted he could duplicate.

He had to push down his thoughts when Sirius finally began to descend. A stag and two does looked up at him, then ran and disappeared among the trees, scared away by the noise of the engine. Once he was down, Sirius slumped forward, muttered something into his wand and sent out some sort of white wisp that disappeared a second later. When the Hit Wizard hissed just from climbing off the bike, Regulus couldn't stay out of sight anymore. Moving lower, he hovered five meters above the ground, standing perfectly upright on his Cleansweep 5. "Don't shoot."

Even dead on his feet, with a bunch of broken bones and suffering from adrenaline withdrawal, the man whirled around and had his wand trained on him in an instant. The alertness in his eyes gave way to relief, though it was masked almost as soon as it came. His wand stayed pointed at him, but no words were said.

Regulus watched from behind the black shroud on his face, despite the impulse to snap at him not to make sudden movements in his state. Even as the wind blew and sent his unbuttoned coat fluttering, he waited, hands in his pockets.

Finally, _finally_ something passed between them and Sirius not only lowered his wand, he dropped unceremoniously on his behind and leaned against the Boneville, breathing hard. He grit his teeth and began to go through the motions of a spell Regulus recognized. "Don't." His voice was firm but not too loud. His broom took him down and he easily dismounted, shrinking the flying tool with a tap of his wand. "Field healing in your condition will just make you go into shock faster." He pocketed the broom and pulled out his wand. "They don't numb the pain, remember? Pain in exchange for ease of learning and execution, etcetera."

Sirius looked like he was about to argue but instead tightly replied. "What, you're a healer now?"

Regulus didn't react to the sarcasm as he walked over. "Actually yes." A flick of his wand opened three of his pouches, allowing three small flasks to fly out. "Now will you let me fix you or will we argue about it the entire five minutes we have before that crazy Lestrange bitch tracks you down?"

Sirius hesitated but seemed to agree with the need for haste. "If you won't mind that I'll keep my wand trained on you the entire time, go ahead."

The other shrugged. "If you think you can hold it up for that long-" a swish of his wand sent the first potion flying. Sirius barely caught it with his other hand. "-_and _uncap the flasks with a single hand at the same time, be my guest."

Sirius frowned but didn't exactly look at the vial.

"It's a pain potion," he banished the other two next to him on the ground. "Those are a general healing and blood replenisher. Now will you stop looking at me as though I have nothing better to do than poison you, even though I could just go for the much simpler option of cursing you to death and leaving instead?"

Sirius grimaced, though he might have tried to hide it. It was hard to tell in the semidarkness. Taking that as his cue, Regulus covered the rest of the distance and knelt by the man, waving his wand over him. "Metitor salus." The diagnostic charm painted an even bleaker picture than what the outside showed. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, some internal bleeding, a concussion, bruises on the rest of the ribcage and, of course, a broken leg. There were some curse and hex traces too.

The information made him frown, and he was glad for all the hours spent with Ted at his clinic. The spells had been complicated but ultimate manageable. It was the familiarity of the treatment routine that really helped him keep his calm when he saw just how much beyond "severely injured" Sirius was.

Not caring about potential protests, he slid his wand over Sirius' shirt, cutting it in half to expose his torso. He started with the ribs. Once they were whole, he spent a minute stopping the internal bleeding, then five more fixing the punctured lung. He didn't even notice Sirius drop his wand and using both hands to uncork the potions and drink them, one after the other.

The concussion was next, and it was easy compared to the lung. Bones were much easier to deal with than soft tissue. Even so, he focused on it entirely, and by the time he was done, sweat was pooling on his forehead. His breathing haggard, he pushed his hood off his face, feeling the concealing charm disperse, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Sirius looked completely stunned at his careless revelation of his appearance.

Well, why not? Since quite some time had passed since he left the house, Regulus took his unbreakable flask from his waist and drank a nice mouthful. "Ugh. Ah, how I _loathe_ the taste of Polyjuice! But what can a guy do, right?"

The Hit Wizard stared at him, jaw going stack.

Regulus shook his head, laughing internally at his expression. Since he needed a break anyway, he started to silently heal the bruises. The big ones would need special paste and potions, but he could deal with the small ones until he recovered enough to fix that broken leg.

The other man thankfully said nothing. Maybe he knew it wasn't a good idea to interrupt healing spells mid-casting.

Finally he thought he could risk the leg. As far as difficulty went, it was simpler to accomplish than even the concussion, but Regulus was feeling tired. The healing had drained him more than everything he'd cast while in the air. Still, he vanished the splint he'd previously cast and performed the bone mending spell successfully.

It was enough to make him slump in relief and release a long breath. "That's all I think. You'll still need bed rest, and some muscle-regenerative drought for that shoulder, plus a ligament growth potion, but your life shouldn't be in danger anymore." Absently, he retrieved a Pepper-Up potion and drank it in one gulp, wincing at the hot feeling as it went down through his esophagus. "Right, let's go then." Not even waiting for an agreement, the younger one stood, flicked his wand an turned to walk off even before Sirius started lifting off the ground.

"Wai-hey! Finite!" The other man fell flat on his back with thud. "Ow..."

Regulus turned to see a searing glare being directed his way. "Or I can help you walk I suppose."

"I can walk by myself, thanks!" Sirius scowled mutinously, climbing to his feet, albeit not without using the bike as support. Extensively.

Not bearing to see that sorrowful look that wept for the impending loss of the precious bike, Regulus pulled his concealing hood back on to mask his exasperation, though he still released a huff and brusquely approached, pulling his brother's secondary arm over his shoulders. "Let's go already. I cast a bubble that will prevent tracking charms from broadcasting, but it's still likely we could be found here."

With great reluctance, Sirius let himself be pulled away towards the miniature forest that made up most of the park.

Regulus deliberately looked straight ahead. "Shouldn't the help you sent for have come by now?" He felt him tense, but he didn't stop walking. "I saw you send some sort of white light from your wand earlier. I'm guessing it was a distress call of some sort?"

The Hit Wizard didn't answer verbally, but he did duck his head and tiredly rubbed his eyes with his wrist. "You really screwed my life up with your portkeys during that first month," he instead said.

That didn't really elicit any sympathy. "Tough."

Their advance was slow. It made Regulus annoyed that his brother wouldn't let him just levitate him out of there. It was times like these that he regretted not coming out in the open earlier. It would have saved a lot of negotiations. He'd considered just fooling the ward, but since his method relied on trying to send the side-along apparition "load" ahead and _failing_, that was a no go. He wasn't sure a passenger would even stay whole if he pulled that stunt. It was one thing to side-jump air and another to use a person.

It made the fact that his clothes or other equipment never seemed to be affected during those jumps really bizarre.

"Are you going to give me a name yet?"

"Why Black, I thought you already had one?"

A scoff. "Do you have a name or not?"

"Yes."

He could _feel_ the glare. "Are you an Unspeakable?"

"Now Black, if I _were_ an Unspeakable, I wouldn't be able to _speak_ about me being an Unspeakable, now would I?"

"Cheeky bastard."

They were half-way there now. Should he use the broom? It couldn't handle more than one passenger though. Maybe he should give it to Sirius and be done with it. At least to let him get to the edge of the wards. Just how far did the anti-disapparition jinx extend? At this rate, he may as well have stayed and tried to find where on the bike it had been installed. A levitation spell to spin it around... Maybe a Specialis Revelio would have-

"Thank you."

Regulus stumbled to a momentary halt and risked glancing in the limping wizard's direction. If not for the deep silence of the night, he wasn't certain he'd have heard him, so soft those words had been. "Now now, what about your reputation as a cocky arsehole that feels he is entitled to everything?" It was decidedly strange to hold that sort of conversation, as though they were strangers who only knew of the other in passing. If only... Regulus immediately squished his longing for the type of communication he and his sibling used to enjoy before Hogwarts.

The law enforcer laughed, but it didn't last. His tense scowl returned and he started looking around worriedly.

It was too quiet. Crickets should, at the very least, have been making their usual noise. That they didn't meant-

CRACK.

Apparition. Regulus stared dumbly at the Death Eater that was suddenly three meters in front of them, facing away. Turning his head, he saw them and froze.

No one moved.

"Will you stop popping all over the place?" Another voice came from beyond the trees, rushing into view and bending over, too out of breath. "You'll aler... alert him." Finally, he looked up.

Like an eerie stereo, two voices shouted. "Confrigo!" "Bombarda!"

"Proteg-" the first Death Eater was blasted off his feet before his shield had a chance to spring. Tossed through the air, his skull was fractured and his left arm blown out of its socket along with part of his chest. He was dead before he even hit the grass.

The two Blacks realized too late what they'd just done.

Attacked the same man, leaving the other enough time to shakenly gasp out. "Favilla!"

"Stupefy!" "Expelliarmus!"

But it was too late. By the time their spells hit, a wave of sickly green sparks had already shot out of the wand, straight up, illuminating the air above the treetops like a series of particularly noxious fireworks.

The string of curses that left Regulus' mouth was only _just_ less offensive than Sirius.' Crack - Crack - Pop -crack - the blasts of apparition began to fill the trees. "Move back," he hissed. "_Back!_" Not even waiting, he dislodged Sirius and blasted him backwards with the strongest banisher he could muster, right at the bike they were trying to get away from until scant seconds before. A light seen with the corner of his eyes told him to duck, so he did.

A purple curse shot over him, but he was ready for the second. Bone-crusher. A swipe of his wand caught it and blasted it to the side where it struck an enemy that was trying to sneak unseen out from the shadows. Two more spells were deflected in the same manner. The fourth he jumped over, just after the wandless featherweight charm settled over him like a blanket. "Avis," he muttered lowly as he seemed to float, and he swirled his coat like he'd done twice before. The flock of ravens shot out in all directions and, suddenly, he was no longer there.

The black of night made it that much easier for the wrong conclusion to be drawn. "He's an animagus!" One of them yelled, throwing blasting curses at the flock of black fowls. "Attack those things! One of them is bound to be him!"

Regulus blinked, crouched sideways on the trunk of a tree, high up among the boughs. Far be it from him to tell them otherwise. He needed time, but how to buy it? The answer was staring him right in the face.

It was a pigeon.

The park trees were literally stuffed with pigeons.

The feral grin was completely invisible behind the black veil. Quickly tapping his ears to make himself deaf, he swiped his wand as though cracking a whip. "Tonare!" He yelled, though he heard himself not.

The thunderclap startled everyone, drowning out even the apparition cracks of the newest arrivals, and it was immediately followed by a positively _ludicrous_ number of startled birds. There had to be thousands of them, and they all took flight at once, distracting everyone below. But most of them were formerly domesticated, released by people that had too many. Unused to flight from staying in cages all day. Old women fed them daily, so they were fat and bloated, unwilling to fly too much or too high.

So they did the only logical thing and tried to find some place to land on the ground. And since it only took one Death eater to release a startled curse, and some others to join, the birds were scared further and began to fly around, trying to get as far away as they could only to crowd around and scare other witches or wizards. "Lumos Maxima!" was heard for the second time that night, and many of the birds were blinded. Their flight became erratic, collisions happened.

It was chaos. Even the raven flock and the twister spell hadn't looked so wonderful. "Stupefy," he murmured, downing one of the only two Death Eaters that had seen him banish Sirius away. A silent translocation left him crouched right behind him. "Obliviate." Ten minutes of the bastard's life would have to be gone, sadly.

The cover provided by the birds let him do the same on the other witness before he disapparated again. "Confrigo!" He teleported to another tree even before the explosion sounded, upturning the soil. "Bombarda Maxima! Reducto! Ardeo!" He was back at the edge of the clearing, casting a disillusionment charm just as the explosions sounded and fire painted the night red in the distance, drawing them away. It was as good a diversion as he could make it.

Featherweight charm still in place, he pushed off the tree as hard as he could. It almost felt like flight, how he soared, but he didn't have time to enjoy the feeling. Spotting the bike and Sirius next to it, he cast the bird conjuration spell yet again. "Avis." And when the ravens all descended and converged on one spot, under Sirius' spooked eyes, Regulus translocated one more time. "Come on. We'll have to go the other way before they-" CRACK "... Nevermind."

Brilliant. More Death Eaters, and they were appearing all over the place. "Where the _hell_ is the Order?" Sirius growled, taking cover behind the bike.

"They really want you." A wordless disillusionment covered him and Sirius immediately did the same to himself and his motorbike, though the Gryffindor didn't say anything.

Regulus pondered for half a second and cast a hardening charm on the motorcycle as well. "Duro." Focusing, he managed to extend the disillusionment over his wand as well. "Any friends you could still call?" His whisper came out oddly plaintive.

Sirius hesitated before shaking his head. "Already sent the message. That they haven't answered..." the low light should not have made it easy to see him go pale, but there it was. "Merlin, Voldemort must attacking at least one other place. Probably several."

Regulus paused before saying as firmly as he could. "Well we need someone here _now_."

"No, that's what they want," Sirius realized, the disembodied whisper even more eerie than usual. "I... I don't think it's me they want."

Regulus knew what he was saying, he really did, but he couldn't resist being a bit snide, just this once. "I'm sure they only _seemed_ persistent in their efforts to get you during the past hour."

Shadows began to come out of the trees, thirty meters away, though the distressed birds made it hard to tell. Then that _voice_ was heard through the flapping and squawking. Were pigeons even supposed to make those sounds? "Oh cousin deareeeest!"

Oh, sweet Bella, how he adored her. Truly. "Call someone Black."

After he finished hissing his displeasure at Bella's presence, he refused again. "No, there's no one-"

"You hesitated earlier, and don't say you didn't," it was hard to judge the reaction of a disillusioned man, especially in the dark, but Regulus could swear the blur stiffened. "That you'd rather be caught or killed instead of sending for help means you know what they're after, and you consider them more important than yourself. It's one of two. One: it's your flaming chicken order's leader, who is most likely fighting wherever else the hyphen spammer is attacking. Two: it's the only people you care more about than yourself, meaning one of the marauders or... The Potters."

"Ten points to Slytherin," the older wizard hissed sarcastically. It made the other's eyebrows go up. His guesses weren't too off the mark at least. The blur shifted and the one marking the bike behind it glittered faintly. "You should just get out of here. I'll make a run for it the other way. I should escape if the disillusionment holds."

"Right, I'm _sure_ they'll just forget about the existence of the human revealing spell." Regulus clicked his tongue. His brother was as stubborn as ever, though his nobility was enviable, even if it was misguided. He really didn't like to use underhanded tactics, but he _was_ a Slytherin. "Fine, have it your way." He summoned his ravens and disappeared. The birds were easily overlooked among the flock of distressed pigeons that had spread over to the clearing and were giving the dark lord's followers such _great_ entertainment.

"Accio polyjuice." His summoning spell pulled a different flask of the foul potion from his special stash. And just a second after he appeared in his bedroom to get that all important concoction, he disapparated again.

His existential shift deposited him in the crown of an oak. A death eater was conveniently positioned right below. It was too good a chance to pass up. "Serpensortia." The snake was dumped unceremoniously from eight meters up, right on his head.

Shutting out the scream of terror, the youngest Black scion repeated the maneuver several times, though he only scored two more direct hits, much to his disappointment. Then, naturally, he disapparated again. He'd lost count of how many times he'd done that.

He appeared five meters above where he'd last knelt beside his brother. A quick disillusionment was accompanied by a renewed featherweight charm, allowing him to easily land. "Boo!"

Sirius didn't react. "Knew you were coming back ever since the new screaming started." The chameleon blur shifted slightly. "Also, you were right. It's not like _anyone_ here could forget about the human revealing spell. Nice try though. Now scram."

"As you wish. I'll just take a few of your hairs then."

"What?" A silent Diffindo startled Sirius enough to yelp. "What in blazes?" It was a miracle he didn't outright shout, and it was a blessing that the flapping of the hysterical pigeons drowned him out.

"Come on Black, I am _obviously_ planning to impersonate you while you escape on my broom which, sadly, cannot hold two people." The polyjuice flask wasn't disillusioned and the former Death Eater made a show of dropping the hairs in it. "I would have given it to you earlier if I thought you'd be able to stay on it, which I still don't believe." He shook the flask to help the dissolution. " Anyway. You're leaving _now, _or we can perform the most ridiculous and ineffective version of 'No, _I_ am Spartacus.' What'll it be?"

A beat. "You're crazy."

No, _Bellatrix _was crazy. "Oh cousiiin! Come out come out wherever you are!" Bellatrix Lestrange was taking her sweet time. "Reducto!" Or not. "Ugh! Summoning snakes now? How Slytherin of you! You sure you're not interested in joining the Dark Lord, cousin? I'm sure he-argh! Get out, out of my hair you stupid bird! Crucio!"

"No, _she's_ crazy," he gave a shake of his disillusioned head. "What _I_ _am_ is tired of arguing with a stubborn Hit Wizard that can barely stand. I'm also the only one of us that actually has a way to escape despite the wards placed on your bike. Take it or leave it!"

"But you don't even know me!" Sirius hissed. "Why do this?"

It must have been the pure bewilderment that drew that answer from him. "No, you _think_ I don't know you, just like you _think_ you don't know _me._ For all you know, I'm a polyjuiced fellow Hogwarts student. Now make up your mind. Adorable though your cousin's struggles with pigeonhood undoubtedly are, she is getting close." To make his point, Regulus pulled out the shrunken broom, enlarged it, disillusioned it and pushed it into Sirius' hands.

He almost drank from the polyjuice before the broom was dropped and a nearly invisible hand grabbed his. "You do realize it's essentially poisonous to drink another polyjuice dose so soon, especially with a different hair. You might even get turned into a hideous abomination permanently."

"I have mandrake restorative draught at home."

The two disillusioned brothers stared at one another, though neither could actually see themselves or the one in front of them.

Sirius' hand still over his let him know when the shift in position came. "How much time do you think you'll need?" He asked lowly. Footsteps and cries of annoyance started to get closer. The enemies must have finally spotted the shimmer of the disillusioned bike.

"No way! You don't get to change your mind now!"

"You think I can leave you here in good conscience?"

"Your conscience can handle the guilt, I'm sure. You follow the king of guilty consciences after all."

For a time, only the frantic birds and annoyed Death Eaters were heard. "I don't know what your problem is with Dumbledore and I don't care right now. I'm not letting you do this. So tell me how much time you'll need."

So Sirius wasn't going to abandon him. Regulus wanted to curse his stupid Gryffindor streak, but he knew there was no time for more arguments. "Not sure. 15 minutes? And you'd have to help because you're the one who knows what spells are _supposed _to be there. That means you'll need at least 10 people coming here..." He really hoped Sirius would just decide to go with his previous idea of flying off.

But then the younger one had the foreboding impression that the disillusioned Hit Wizard was grinning. "15 minutes? Is that all? Then I really only need one or two." Abruptly, Sirius dropped the disillusionment. He was on one knee, holding his wand horizontally, pointing at his left palm, and his eyes were a stormy grey, unyielding. "If this is a trick, I won't need my wand to find and kill you."

The younger Black made to respond but didn't.

The wand glowed white at the tip, a shimmering blade and Sirius stabbed his palm. "Familiae Magia."

Those words coming from his brother's mouth instantly _floored_ him.

The elite auror pulled out the wand. Blood oozed out from the puncture on his palm, but it didn't fall. Instead it floated, stretched, divided evenly, then it was like an invisible brush passed through it, again and again. Like mist the red ghosted, wavered, changed color and painted two different crests. One had four different elements: arms, crests, the supporters and the motto. Even the Batons of the Earl Marshall of the British Isles.

The second one shocked Sirius and confirmed suspicions for Regulus. A Coat of Arms with three lions passant guardant, two sets of three fleurs de lis on opposite corners. All within a bordure heraldry, argent and blue, though the blue was matted and darkened, nearly black.

The crest of the House of Black.

Sirius glared at it and brought his wand up, stabbing it forward, but passed it by. Instead it speared the Crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. The family magic of the House of Black departed, though Regulus did not feel it take offense to the scorn of its heir. The magic of the House of Potter intensified and shone as its command was given. "Patrisfamilias Custodia."

An invisible, intangible wave of magic erupted in all directions, and despite it being essentially unseen and unheard, Regulus _knew_ it had taken place.

"You're a _son of the house of Potter_?" He couldn't help it. The disbelief just slipped out. His brother had two family magics. Two family magics he could _call_. Sirius had been _adopted_ into the House of Potter. When had that happened? And was it even possible to gain another House, another _Paterfamilias_ but retain the succor of the other familial magic as well? It wasn't surprising to know James Potter, or even Charlus, had decreed that Sirius be allowed to use it for some things, like calling help just now, but did Sirius even understand what it meant that the Black Family Magic responded?

What had grandfather Arcturus _done_? Or rather _hadn't_? Or was the family magic acting independent of his will? It was a baffling thought.

An orange orb lit the night and smashed into the disillusioned motorbike. There was a sound like the striking of a gong and the camouflage failed under the spell. The settled pigeons were again startled, but this time they only flew a ways off before settling on the ground like a living blanket that shied away from the masked men and women. The flash of light rattled the Boneville and left behind a deep black scorch mark, but the bike stayed in place, despite swaying. "Hiding behind your little muggle toy cousin?"

"Ah, Bella dear! So good to know I have _you_ as a stalker!" Sirius was standing in full view now, looking remarkably at ease, despite Regulus knowing it was probably taking all his effort to stay upright. He could see the two even though he'd stayed disillusioned, crouched behind his unwitting brother. He surveyed the confrontation through a mirror he'd silently transfigured out of a blade of grass. "How's life been? Still wetting your knickers every time your bastard master graces your ears with his high, squeaky voice?"

"Why you... you..." Bellatrix was momentarily left speechless. "You dare disrespect the Dark Lord! Crucio!"

Sirius ducked out of the way of that Voldemort-ish reaction. "Sorry sorry!" And Regulus could perfectly imagine the appropriately sheepish look on him. He regretted the fact he was with his back turned, but he had to keep an eye on those four wizards coming from the trees. "I didn't know it was still supposed to be a secret! I'd have thought your husband would know by now! You're telling me he still hasn't figured it out?"

Regulus was biting his cheek to keep from laughing and exposing his presence.

Their cousin was livid. "You're lucky the Dark Lord wants you alive!" Her glare never left Sirius and her long, curly hair was frazzled, as though it was mortified for her sake. "Spread out you fools! Surround him!"

"Yes mistress Bellatrix!"

Sirius was suitably shocked. "Mistress! Dear Merlin, Bella! You're telling me you're the mistress to all these men too?" He ducked out of the way of a bone crusher. "Aiming bone crushers at my head? Weren't you going to take me alive? And I was only complimenting you on your endurance too!"

"You always were hilarious," Bellatrix simpered in a tone that rung with a genuine amusement that everyone there knew was fake.

Sirius' grin could be heard in his words. "Well you know me, I never say anything that isn't LUMOS MAXIMA!" The world went blind and voices cried out as eyes scrunched in sudden pain. "Terraemotus Maximus!" A seismic wave blasted outward as Sirius' wand sunk tip first in the earth. The earth shook once, and people fell. The once again blind pigeons were thrown up and around. The startled birds panicked once more and took to the sky, the right, the left, everywhere at once. Boughs bustled, trees groaned as soil shifted, and the motorbike rattled intensely, only feet from their position.

Regulus was struggling to sustain his crouching posture. He'd have thought it would be a good moment to make a run for it if he didn't know the earthquake would throw them off balance as well. A silent _Deprimo _produced the now familiar blast of air and scared the remaining pigeons away from the ground and added to the pandemonium. Barely any birds hit them, stooped low as they were.

Unfortunately, a few enemies caught on. "Percido!" The closest man called. With what could only have been dumb luck, the punching hex missed all the pigeons still flying around and hit Sirius in the chest. The Hit Wizard was thrown backwards with a grunt, having experienced the equivalent of a fist to the sternum. And while his fall was stopped by Regulus' own back being there, the wrenching of the wand from the ground also put an end to the earth tremors.

"Stupefy!"

But the younger one was already there, deflecting the spell invisibly. His wand spun between his fingers as he caught a disarming charm instants later and sent it away. The pigeon never knew what hit it. "Ardeo!" A fireball hurled out of his wand, growing to two feet in diameter within less than a second, incinerating pigeons as it went. A swipe of his wand deflected a stunner about to hit him in the hip, though Sirius had been its target.

Then the fireball finally exploded, providing some much needed light now that clouds had finally hidden the moon from view. Trees caught fire and two Death Eaters screamed by the time Bellatrix decided they were more useful alive than dead and cast a flame freezing charm. "Hominis Revel-"

"Fulmen!" Sirius roared next to him.

Bellatrix barely blocked the bolt of lightning with a nonverbal shield spell.

"Homenum Revelio," Regulus intoned. "30." Oh boy. "Twenty beyond the trees." He barely noticed a disarmer aimed for Sirius in time to deflect it at the ground. "They're aiming for attrition."

"Or they're waiting for something else," Sirius muttered, voice heavy. "Adfixus Fulminis!" Chain lightning streamed from his wand, striking a man and breaking off, hitting two others. The birds still flying nearby produced garbled cries as electricity burned them from inside, and the wizards were no better off.

Then Regulus' disillusionment fell due to what could only have been a silent _Hominis Revelio, _and it was like the entirety of existence conspired to create the biggest misunderstanding imaginable.

Regulus dodged two curses, blocked a stunner that would have hit Sirius and deflected two hexes, even hitting a caster back in the face with one, but then a male voice he recognized shouted. "Confrigo!" He saw the spell coming and when he jumped over Sirius to push him to the ground, he managed to throw him in the path of a "Stupefy!"

The ground was blown up and apart.

The young wizard felt himself being thrown away and his ears rung. The motorbike was blasted off its wheels and fell in a heap. Dazed, he pushed up, choking on dust. His hood had, thankfully, not been thrown back but his whole body ached from being blasted so cleanly.

Looking around, he saw Sirius just a few feet away. Rushing to stand, he pointed his wand and hissed. "Ennervate!"

Just as two cracks of apparition sounded behind him.

Sirius gasped awake.

And a man and woman yelled. "Stupefy!" "Incarcerous!"

An electrical jolt violently wracked his body, forcing his eyes open and his mind to jump to full wakefulness. An odd feeling of deja vu overtook him, despite the thing he was lying on being a lot less comfortable than his bed. A deep, dark sky now bereft of stars met his sight.

Then a spell dispersed against a shield, and his memories fell over one another to return to him.

"You up yet?!" Sirius voice called.

The rope binding spell must have been taken down before he was revived from the stunner. Feeling around with both hands, he found his wand and rolled out of the way of a nasty looking ball of light. He hurried to stand, but it was just his luck that a heavy set masked man was close enough to yell "Avada Kedavra!"

The green light almost had him when a silver shield appeared out of nowhere right in its path.

The loud explosion hurled him back, but the curse had been miraculously stopped. Wandlessly summoning the wand he'd lost a hold of, he rushed to a standing position again but had to back off when spellfire began flying at him from three people at once. Each second it got harder because the erratic birds had almost all left or died.

"Familiae Magia." It wasn't Sirius this time. It was a deeper baritone, one whose words weighed much more as the House of Potter family magic answered the call. Yellow-red light surged behind him, and though he couldn't look back for worry of failing to block the stream of curses, he could see his own shadow growing longer on the scorched and upturned ground in front of him.

"Any time now Prongs!" Sirius yelled hoarsely.

James Potter did not disappoint. "Patrisfamilias Ars Magica." Light flared and Regulus risked a look. The wizard may have been wearing casual muggle clothes, but none could care about that when he was wreathed in scorching flames, a ball of white fire in his left hand. Holding it out, he raised his wand and jabbed through the center of the mass. "Voco Fulgor Leonis."

He didn't shout, but everyone heard him as though he'd cast Sonorus anyway. A resounding roar preceded the lunge of a three foot-tall lion, though the predator king did not hurl itself at their enemies as Regulus thought it would. And this was no treacherous Fiendfyre either.

Instead the spirit of flame shot up like a rocket, losing its form and becoming a comet. It flew in a circle and then hurled itself down and around. When it crashed into the earth, the flames erupted. The lion appeared again and charged, setting the soil and air ablaze. It ran and roared, and set the atmosphere alight, the brilliance bringing clarity to the whole clearing as the conflagration resolved itself into a circular barrier, five meters in radius.

And the flames revolved and cut a swath deeper and farther through the ground each time James Potter spun his wand above his head as if handling a lasso.

The enemies fled or backed away, but some were caught on the inside of the circle of fire. "Reducto!" Regulus yelled. "Bombarda!" he followed when the heavy-set death eater managed to block it, despite his shock. "Protego!" Deflecting the bone crushing hex harmlessly away, he dodged out of the path of a Reductor and, doing his best not to get distracted by the duels happening behind him, swished his wand, silently summoning the motorbike that had somehow ended up on the left of the Death Eater and slightly behind.

A meaty thud mixed with a dull clang marked the impact between the main bike frame and the back of the dark wizard's head. The time it took to set the bike to the ground was enough for the Death Eater to stumble to his feet. His mask had been knocked off and Regulus could see him for the first time.

"Crucio!" The dark wizard roared.

Regulus rolled away, trying to prevent panic. "Depulso!" Rodolphus Lestrange barely stumbled, but it was enough to get another spell out. "Reducto!" Blocked. "Percido! Stupefy." The first hex hit but caused the stunner to miss and disappear beyond the fire wall. A entrail-expelling curse was the retaliation, but Regulus dodged it. A silent spell shaped like a red scythe almost had him, but he threw up a shield. "Protego Horribilis!" It went down from the overpowered cutting curse, but his balance had returned. The last haze from the stunner was finally gone and his footwork came to him with a welcome familiarity.

The silent conjuration brought the silver rapier to his hand. A swing cut a curse in half, a second, diagonal, slashed the air. The silver-white streak of force traveled further and neutralized the hastily-erected Protego. A third rent the air once more, leaving a gash across the burly chest of Bellatrix Lestrange's husband. The fourth smashed through a second shield but caused enough of a recoil that Rodolphus was thrown off his feet.

The Death Eater tried Crucio again, but Regulus allowed his sword to fade and side-stepped, right in the path of the blood boiling curse, which he swiped his wand at and struck, dead center, mustering all the determination he had.

A flash of purple light, and he was standing, left arm outstretched and the right hand holding his wand up at brow level. The waves of hot air swirled and ascended around him, sending his black long coat fluttering. Ahead of him, Rodolphus cried out and writhed on the ground as his own curse hit him in the abdomen.

The young Black was dumbstruck. He'd _won._ He used to be the weakest of the Inner Circle., brought into its ranks on the worth of his family name alone, and he'd beaten _Rodolphus Lestrange_ of all people.

Grateful that the illusion on his hood concealed his stupefaction at the outcome of the duel, he wandlessly summoned the silver Death Eater mask. "Portus." He pointed at the man. "Incarcerous. Accio wand." Catching it from the air, he walked over to the prone form of the struggling man and put him out of his misery with a Stupefy. And as he busied himself with casting a sticking charm on the wand and Lestrange's backside, he wondered at Rodolphus' silence while Sirius was taunting Bellatrix. It was almost as if he agreed with the insinuations.

After putting the Portus mask back on, Regulus turned around to see what else was happening. The four death eaters on the ground made his eyebrows rise. Realizing none of them were inner circle members, he felt better about having only beaten one. Besides, Potter had seen fit to stupefy him, the bastard. And now he was back-to-back with his wife and Sirius, forming a rather formidable looking trio.

"You okay back there?" Potter, of all people, called.

Feeling like he needed to keep up an image, Regulus whispered the raven summoning spell and flapped his cloak, disapparating under their cover. A featherweight charm made sure he fell slowly after reappearing 20 meters in the air. When the birds crowded next to Sirius, he appeared in their midst and immediately had to raise a shield against dark spells.

Sirius cursed. "They're casting blindly from beyond the fire!"

"You said they could give me 15 minutes, Black! Instead they stunned me." Which was mildly shocking. Potter's stunner had gone through his dragonhide coat _and_ vest. Somehow.

"Yeah," James grinned sheepishly, still swinging his flaming lasso, though he seemed a bit out of breath. "Sorry about that. We..." He gasped lightly "thought you were a... Death Eater with the... Black Huntsman persona you have going on."

Lily Potter's red hair seemed brighter than usual because of the firelight. She somehow managed to look beautiful even after that skirmish. And in muggle clothing one would expect to be worn around the house. They'd really rushed over apparently, though it also meant they weren't at the other fights that Sirius assumed might be happening. He didn't know what he would have done if Dumbledore had deliberately kept the information of Sirius' predicament from them, just to "keep them safe."

Regulus was curious why she would come fight when she'd only had her baby three weeks prior. He knew magical healing helped post-birth recuperation, but still! If nothing else, at least it showed how much she, like James Potter, cared about Sirius. "Evans!" He needed _some_ way to address them, since he wasn't on first-name basis with either Potter. "Help me out. Si-Black, cover for me." Looking up, he lifted his wand. "Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." The stream of magic flowed from his wand. "Protego Maxima. Fianto-"

"-Duri. Repello Inimicum." Lily Potter's protection charms were easily as strong as his. "Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." The dome of energy had gained some form and it was steadily growing. Soon it would reach the ground and encase them completely. In the Horcrux cave, he was short of time and used his own magic to power it. In its normal form, the spells actually shaped ambient magic into a shield ward.

"Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum." It took two minutes and half a dozen dodged or blocked spells, but they managed to encase the clearing.

James let his arm fall to his side and rolled his shoulder. He looked at the flashes painting the shield, where the Death Eaters were casting the strongest curses they could think of. "Well, whoever you are, Sirius tells me you can dispel the hexes on his bike. I can honestly say I hope you start soon because otherwise we're all in a serious pickle here."

"Accio motorbike." The motorcycle flew over but did not fall on the ground. Regulus easily switched to a hovering charm and made it float in front of him, wheels perpendicular with the earth. "Specialis Revelio." The muggle vehicle lit up in all colors of the spectrum. Absently, the wizard made the bike spin on its axis with a wave of his hand.

"Sirius, Lily, help him." James said, bending his knees until they almost touched the ground. Like Sirius had done earlier, he stabbed the earth with his wand, but his incantation was completely different. "Commuta Labyrintheum."

Regulus Black watched in amazement as the ground shimmered and started changing and shifting. He had to force himself to return to his study of the bike instead of staring with his mouth open at how the ground split, the soil rearranged itself and rocks literally grew and molded into a mindboggling maze. He vaguely remembered James Potter being an ace at transfiguration during school, but this was ridiculous. There were even hedges and plants mixing with the stone walls, three meters tall.

It made the silent conjuration of the Aegis Fortis that saved him from the killing curse seem tame in comparison.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Sirius snapped, scratching his stubble. "There's nothing wrong with my bike!"

"Are you sure Sirius?" Lily asked, sounding weary and worried. Understandable since they'd been at it for five minutes with no results. She was casting charms Regulus knew, and some he didn't. "Are there really supposed to be so many active spells."

"Most of them are safety measures, anti-crash, balance assurance and so on," the man answered. He looked like he had to put an effort to prevent his eyes from dropping closed where he sat on the ground, cross-legged. "There's also a cushioning charm on the seat, and the rest are mostly unbreakable charms cast on each part individually. The tank and endoskeleton are the only ones that have to do with flying. The skeleton acts like a broom, sort of, and the tank holds only the power stone."

For some reason, that made Regulus think. Nodding firmly to himself, he cast a silent transparency spell at the tank. The sight made him narrow his eyes. "So why are there _two_ things in there?"

As if his fatigue was gone, the elder Black scion jumped to his feet and looked closer, wide-eyed. "What in blazes?" Pulling his wand, he tapped the tank and muttered some sort of password. The cap slid apart and let them have a direct look. The power stone was intact and shining, runes covering it, like a ward stone. The odd sight was the small cube affixed to it, apparently feeding off the energy in the larger stone.

"Sirius," Lily asked, even more concerned than before. "How many people know about how your bike works?"

"No one," he said, shocked. "No one except Peter, James and... and Remus." Shocked speechless, the two looked at each other and passed some sort of message that they must have thought Regulus wouldn't be able to pick up on.

His deliberation over whether or not to draw attention to the fact he _did_, in fact, understand was cut short when a sonic boom rocked the world hard enough to throw them off balance. Startled beyond reason, they looked back and over what they could of the labyrinth walls and hedges, only to see huge cracks littering their powerful shield ward. "Voldemort," Regulus whispered. Only he was strong enough to blast them so violently.

Lily paled.

"My God," Sirius mumbled. "Lily, James! You two need to get out of here now! I'm sorry, I should never have called for you... You, do you still have the broom? No wait, I dropped it. James must have burned it by accident."

Regulus silently summoned the cube. He was about to levitate it in the air and Reducto it to smithereens when a second lightning strike from the dark lord hit the shield and smashed it to energy pieces. Rolling through his dive, he ended up behind the others with only Lily Potter next to him. The knowledge that the dark lord could easily track apparition trails stopped him from destroying the cube.

Lying on his back, he had a few seconds to think, and a few facts crystallized in his mind: Voldemort was here, which meant that whatever battle was also going on was over, which meant that Dumbledore or someone from his Order would be sent here to find Sirius.

Then he got an idea. It was crazy, and incomplete, but it arrested him for a long moment. He had to be fast about this, because the dark lord could fly and James' maze wouldn't matter. "Potter!" He barked, drawing James' attention. "Conjure a coil of rope for me. Make it permanent."

James did, and blasts began to be heard closer and closer. Voldemort had chosen to be dramatic and march in instead of flying. The bastard was determined to completely defeat the purpose of the labyrinth by blowing a direct path through it. A waste of a good transfiguration. Well, far be it from Regulus to question his good luck that he wasn't going to fly in. "Portus." He timed it so that he turned the rope into a Portkey just as the nearest wall was blasted apart with what must have been an overpowered Confrigo. And with Sirius and James busy shielding them all from the debris, he only had Lily to deal with.

Steeling himself and hoping the lump in his throat wouldn't make him lose his nerve, he whirled his wand on Lily Potter. A nonverbal Silencio caught her by surprise. An incarcerous bound her and a silent Expelliarmus relieved her of her wand. Ignoring her shocked and betrayed look, he yelled. "Incarcerous!" Making sure James bindings were even stronger. Then he launched a disarming charm at a shocked Sirius before binding him as well. Seeing a chance to destroy the anti-disapparition and portkey cube, he did so with a noverbal Reducto, before pointing his wand at a struggling James Potter and yelling. "Expelliarmus!" just as Bellatrix came through the cloud of ash and dust.

Catching the third wand and pocketing it with the other two, he pointed his wand at the sky and made sure his voice was loud and clear. "Morsmordre!"

The green skull appeared in the air and a snake forced its way out if his mouth. No one would doubt who'd cast the dark mark now.

But just to be sure, he pulled the sleeve on his left arm back and made sure everyone including the Potters and Sirius could see the brand in his skin. Needless to say, Bellatrix Lestrange _nee_ Black looked suitably shocked at the scene she walked into.

"Bellatrix," he drawled, awed at how perfectly superior his tone was despite the way his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. "Did you _seriously_ think you'd accomplish anything just by catching Black? Not that you seemed to do a very good job of it, getting knocked off your broom and everything." Acting perfectly at ease, he waved his wand and bound the three stunned people together and tied them to the motorbike. He included an activation signal that whisked Rodolphus away to the MOM from where a newly formed maze section had hidden him. "As if he'd do anything other than sacrifice himself because of his foolish Gryffindor Pride."

"How... Why would you-"

"Silencio," he drawled, cutting Sirius off without even looking at him. Then he silenced a murderous-looking James Potter for good measure. "I suppose I should still give you credit for tracking him down though." Regulus resumed. "I wouldn't have managed to fool him into calling these two had you not." Doing his best to remember where he'd apparated to his house from, he started sending fake side-alongs there now that the ward was gone. The interference should erase the trail completely. "But really Bella, falling off your broom? Even _I _ can do better. In this and everything else, as you can see."

Bellatrix looked at him with mad and hateful glint in her eyes, but didn't get around to saying anything.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A shiver went down Regulus' spine when the dark lord allowed himself to be seen, his invisibility fading. He was standing just a bit ahead of Bellatrix. His pale skin was like that of a vampire and his dark robes like the garments of a wraith. "Bravo!" His sibilant voice praised. "Bravo. Such a wondrous performance. Indeed, one might call it perfect. Delivering those that have caused me and the Wizarding world such grief. But it is curious, most curious..." The creature, for it was not a man any longer, fingered his wand slowly. "... that such a skilled Death Eater would miss my notice for so long. And also that he somehow learned of the plan even though I only shared it with my most trusted lieutenants this very night."

Stall. All he had to do was stall. "Incarcerous," he cast on James again, just in case he knew wandless spells of some sort. To be safe, he took his time binding the other two as well. Again. "My Lord, I present to you Sirius Black, James Potter and Lily Potter, who have caused you much grief in the past. I swear to you that I came here tonight with the intention to observe." It was true. No need to mention it wasn't the _only_ intention though. "I wanted to learn from your elite how things are achieved, so I trailed after your Knights as they chased Black through muggle London, but I was appalled at how easily they were defeated. It would have been remiss of me to not intervene and bring glory to your cause to the best of my ability."

It was bullshit on honey, and they both knew it, but the disgustingly butt-kissing speech had done its purpose. Just as he finished talking, dozens of apparition cracks and pops sounded throughout the area, and while some Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members ended up in parts of James maze, Albus Dumbledore appeared on top of a wall with a flash of flames, Fawkes on his shoulder.

Regulus grinned, though no one saw it through his shrouded hood. Noting the presence of two aurors to his right, he silently cast Homenum Revelio and detected one more under an invisibility cloak behind him. With a tap of his wand, the portkey rope activated and the non-hostages were whisked away. "Hey Voldemort!" He cried brazenly, though it was all he could to prevent himself from hyperventilating. "The things I just said? I was just kidding!"

A split-second later, he was on the other side of the labyrinth center and a blasting curse had engulfed his previous position. Voldemort was standing a few meters away. "Now that's just rude!" he chided with uncharacteristic boldness.

It was like everyone had been hit on the head with a sledgehammer, stunned into silence at his casual escape. Regulus decided he didn't like being the center of attention. Fortunately, his face was invisible and he looked imposing enough to pull off what he intended. And while he'd only _barely_ evaded the dark lord's apparition strike, it looked like he'd had no problem, which was all that mattered.

Dumbledore recovered first. "Where have you sent them?" The air around him crackled with his fury.

Perfect. "That's for me to know." He drew himself to his full height and initiated what was going to be the greatest or the worst bluff in the history of planet Earth. Side-along apparating the air, he began sending to every spot he'd apparated to and from that night, erasing the trace. Then he started to send it around him, making it look like power was rolling off of him. As he translocated the air, his coat flapped and his loose sleeves fluttered in the wind, as though he was unleashing massive amounts of magical energy when he really wasn't.

A nonverbal human revealing spell told him where everyone was and he finished his tirade. "When two factions fight over something, it's easy for a third one to ease its way onto the board without them noticing." He didn't really _say_ there was a third faction. They'd assume it just fine on their own.

"I don't really know what's so special about the Potters, but if _you_ two old goats are throwing tantrums over them, something _interesting_ must be going on. And like you might have noticed from how I spread portkeys everywhere and drove you both and the MOM up the wall, I... _like_ interesting things. Don't worry though," He addressed the aged headmaster. "They are safe and sound, for now, and I expect to return them eventually. Although I do have to say..." He looked at the old man straight in the eye, glad his own face was unseeable. "You really should have sent at least one auror to check on their infant son by now."

He only barely disapparated before the headmaster was in front of his previous location, phoenix fire moving him faster than anyone but him could match. A stunning spell flowed out of him like a wave.

Regulus didn't stick around to see what kind of free for all he'd sparked. As soon as he'd rematerialized 20 meters in the air, he apparated straight up five times, then brandished his wand and jabbed it up. "Deprimo!" Another apparition left him ahead of the gust of wind. His feather-light frame was easily propelled skywards. By the time he stopped going up, he'd side-along apparated air in a column all the way down.

Confident that no one would be able to track him now, he focused on his destination and disappeared from London.

His soundless transportation deposited him in his bedroom. He had to force himself to remember he could hyperventilate later. Rallying his will, he summoned a random piece of paper and wrote a message on it with a wave of his wand "Portus." Having sent it away with a flash of blue light, he began to write blue runes in the air. "Kreacher!" The elf instantly appeared. "Bring the me the pensieve in the Grimmauld Place study!" Pensieves had no distinguishing marks. They were already intricate enough with all the rune markings.

Kreacher did as told even before the anti-apparition charm was ready. Taking the artefact, Regulus summoned the last flask of clear polyjuice he had, along with several stacks of hairs, placed them all in a bottomless bag and closed his eyes.

With a deliberately loud crack, he materialized in Andromeda and Ted Tonk's smallest bedroom. As he expected, it had been turned into a nursery for young Harry Potter. "Stupefy!" Andromeda barely had time to cry out in shock before she was taken out. Regulus felt a bit guilty but this was best. No danger of being considered accomplices and even she wouldn't think that had been him. Until he told her of course. "Stupefy!" he got Ted as he came down the hallway.

Well, Regulus _had_ been to the house before.

Back in the makeshift nursery, he used a quick packing spell to make it seem as though he'd come to kidnap the baby and only took along the essentials, due to haste. After he shrunk the already small bag, he moved quickly to the crib and looked at the boy.

He stopped dead in his tracks and blinked. Those eyes were startling. There was no way they would be so brilliantly green and deep. Shaking his head, he reached down and picked him up. The child kept looking at him with an intensity that was out of place. He wondered what Raphael would say. "Hey little one." The baby did what babies are known to do. It gurgled.

With a sigh, Regulus summoned the small pack that probably belonged to Lily Potter and had it float in front of him as he cast his seriously overused enchantment. "Portus." Careful not to jostle young Harry Potter too much, he grasped the bag handle firmly. "Don't be scared. We're just going to see your mom and dad."

Somewhat amazed that Harry didn't start bawling his eyes out, the wizard said the activation phrase and felt the pull behind his navel tugging him away through space.

Hopefully they wouldn't clobber him and hit Harry by accident.

Minutes after he was gone, Hestia Jones barged into the house after pounding on the door without getting an answer. She found two confused wizards but no baby boy.

"-. .-"

Sirius felt himself, James and Lily crash into a heap on top of his motorbike after the portkey finished its trek. The string of curses leaving his mouth made him realize the silencing charm had failed. When the ropes binding him and the other two also went loose, he confusedly pushed himself off a groaning Lily who, in turn, rolled over to let James breathe in peace.

Hit Wizard training had the Black heir in a crouching position and scouring his vicinity despite the fatigue, and he couldn't be any more confused at what he was seeing. By all accounts, it looked like he was in a rustic living room. A dingy, dilapidated living room, but a living room nonetheless.

And the oddest thing was that the sight tugged some forgotten memories.

"Where are we?" Lily asked.

"That bastard!" James raved. "When I get my hands on him I'll... I'll..." He slumped and rubbed his eyes. "He got us good didn't he? Even our wands..."

Lily paled. "Oh Merlin, James. He was a Death Eater! Voldemort's after Harry. How are we going to get back to Harry!" She was nearly hysterical. "We don't even know where we are, what are we going to do?"

"Lils! Lily!" James shouted, standing and putting both hands on her shoulders. "Lily, calm down. Harry needs you calm. We'll figure this out. First we can see where we are and go from there." Looking around, he became a bit confused himself. "What is this place anyway?"

"I think I might know," Sirius found himself saying. "But it would make no sense."

Which was when a flash of blue deposited a piece of paper on the motorbike.

James rushed to pick it up and pulled out a muggle lighter he'd "borrowed" from Ted. Since they had no wands, they had to make do with that as a light source. "It's a note from that bastard." He seethed. "Mocking us no doubt."

"Just read it Prongs," Sirius said, his suspicions of what this place was increasing.

_"To the Potters and Black,_

_ Sorry for the heavy handedness but I only came up with this crazy stunt when I realized Voldemort had decided to drop by. The place you are at is the cottage of Alphard Pollux Black. We knew each other when he was alive. I'll be there in a few minutes. I just need to go pick up young Harry Potter first, so please don't curse me on sight until you listen to what I have to say. And don't scoff, Black, I know all three of you have wandless abilities of some level._

_ Anyway, I know you can call your house elves to pop you wherever you want, but again, please wait for me to explain."_

"Crazy stunt," James scoffed. "That's putting it lightly."

Sirius huffed. "I think you're just annoyed he got one over you. _And_ he pointed out how you can escape via house elf before you even thought about it."

"That's it!" Lily gasped. "We should call Denny and have her take us back to Andromeda's place. Or bring Harry to us..."

James was silent. "What do you think Sirius?"

The tired man sunk into the couch that the bike had partially buried. "Honestly? I say we wait. It's true, about this place. I recognize the mantelpiece." He made a vague gesture and seemed to think deeply. "I also think that part at the end was just a stunt. If he really wanted to capture us for Voldemort, he could have done it right when you two appeared, without bothering to find that blasted cube."

Which brought another problem: who'd put it there? James, Remus and Peter were the only ones familiar enough with the bike and the charms on it to know how and where to hide that portable ward. That meant the spy on the Order of the Phoenix could be one of the Marauders... Sirius felt ill at the idea.

"I'm surprised you even called me that way, Padfoot," James told him, pretending to be calm when Sirius could tell he wasn't. "What made you do it?"

The wizard hesitated. "He took some of my hairs and was going to drink polyjuice of me while I would escape on his broom. Even though he'd already taken polyjuice of a different person right in front of me, while healing my broken bones." He sighed at the gobsmacked faces of his friends. "Yes. I was shocked myself. I just couldn't let him do that for some reason. Even though he apparently has a means of transportation that can escape wards like those. He might be a raven animagus but I'm not sure..."

The light of portkey travel illuminated the room for a third time that day. "I come in peace!"The man said hurriedly. Sirius noted with some surprise that he was shielding the giggling Harry with his body. "Really!" Seeing he wasn't getting pounded, he slowly looked up and straightened.

"Harry!" Lily cried, closing the distance as if by magic and pulling her baby from the arms of that man, glaring at him but deciding to hold her son instead of attacking the apparent Death Eater with her rather sharp nails.

"Are you really a Death Eater?" Sirius asked.

The black-clad wizard sighed and pushed back his hood. His face hadn't lost its transformed state it seemed. "I was, once, but not anymore. That half-blood bastard son of a near-squib and a muggle can rot in hell for all I care."

James was so nonplussed at that description that he barely reacted when the stranger placed all three wands in his hand.

He did focus again when the stranger produced a pensieve though. "This will work better than most explanations I think. You can take turns if you worry I'll try anything while you're watching the memory of what happened after I portkeyed you away." Placing his wand tip near his temple, he drew a silvery strand which he then let sink in the bowl.

They each took turns and came out of the pensieve with thoughtful expressions. Lily was the most skeptical. James seemed to be pondering the situation deeply. At least, that was that Sirius thought he could see. He himself was impressed. He said as much. "Nice fast-talking."

The black magician packed his pensieve and crafted a portkey from a random cup he summoned from above the fireplace. "I'm going to start adding alarm charms to more of my portkeys and make random appearances whenever Death Eaters attack places. I'm offering to keep everyone thinking I've kidnapped you. Whatever got the so-called Dark Lord to target you specifically, I'll bet it's worth defending. I've already set up the whole thing. I'll leave you to decide the rest."

"Wait!" Sirius called before the portkey went off. "What should we call you?"

The man smiled. "It doesn't really matter to me. Oh wait, I almost forgot." With a flick of his wand, a flask of polyjuice and several bundles of hairs landed on the couch. "For when you decide to travel muggle instead of using house elves or wizarding methods. One of the hair sets is for pre-teens. I vote for Black to use those since he's the most immature of you lot."

"Hey!"

"I rest my case. Be safe." The blue glow surged and he was gone.

The trio seriously discussed their options. Despite being annoyed beyond belief at what had transpired, they couldn't dismiss this golden opportunity. In the end, it was decided they would go with the con, but would tell Dumbledore what happened. _Only_ Dumbledore. That meant that Peter and Remus would have to wait for a while It would be easier in the latter's case, since Remus had gone to feel out the werewolves a week or so earlier and would be gone for at least a month or two.

Sirius volunteered to allow himself to be "found" in a ditch somewhere, with his memory of the past few hours "mysteriously vanished." He'd really be using occlumency to act the part the entire time, until he cornered Dumbledore in private and informed him of things.

As for James and Lily, they would take Harry to Griffon's Eye and stay "kidnapped" until the mysterious interloper finished his "research" into their situation. The only reason they hadn't gone to live there was because Dumbledore was trying to convince them to use the castle as base for the Order of the Phoenix, but James just didn't feel he should let that happen when Dumbledore already had Hogwarts. There had to have been a reason why his father Charlus repeatedly rejected the suggestion, despite being on relatively good terms with the headmaster.

And it _was_ the ancestral home. It deserved more than being turned into some war base when there were so many alternatives already.

After a while, the three decided, they would start letting people in on the secret of their location. If Voldemort ever found out, they would have at least narrowed down the list of potential spy suspects.

In the meantime, Sirius thought, James and Lily would be able to live without fear of being hunted. Harry's first year was looking much better than before.


	5. Chapter 4: Anything and Everything

**A/N**: Seems like there will be a rather short extra chapter before the one where things get back to the "present." I was going to include everything in this one, but it would have become too long.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Anything and Everything**

"-. .-"

It was September 12, 1981, and Theodore Tonks felt just like he felt during most of the past year: like he had more work to do than even doctors should, even though, presently, he was actually enjoying a moment's peace. Though "peace" was very loosely used in that instance. Ted would have drunk some firewhiskey to pass the time, if his impending task (as well as his profession and "side-job" for that matter) didn't demand that he be perfectly in control of his senses every waking moment.

It was half past 2 in the morning. Normal people, wizards or otherwise, would be asleep at that time. Unfortunately, Marius had phoned him about 45 minutes earlier, to tell him that Regulus had woken them up by calling Kreacher again. From what Ted knew, they'd argued for a whole day, once during the previous year, until the young man agreed _not_ to put silencing wards around his room, and to place a word-activated alarm charm (code phrase "Robe Me") that would let the elder Blacks know when he was about to go on a mission.

It had become a habit of theirs. Whenever Regulus took off to answer whichever one of his portkey/apparition beacons activated, Marius or Leona would call him or Andromeda, or both, to stand by in case healing aid was required.

So, naturally, instead of sleeping or doing the other thing with his lovely wife, Ted Tonk was sitting in an easy chair in his living room, warded to prevent noise from escaping it. He didn't want to wake his daughter Nymphadora after all.

Instead of alcohol, he had a cup of steaming hot tea in one hand, and a Daily Prophet in the other. It was an old issue, from mid-May. He preferred it because, despite having read it dozens of times, the topic was still interesting enough that it kept his eyes moving over the words. It was better than simply waiting. Not by much, but better. Even if the title Regulus got saddled with could have done with a bit more originality.

**Black Phantom Openly Defies You-Know-Who!**

**Controversial wizard leads He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named on apparition chase throughout England before once again disappearing as mysteriously as he appeared!**

_By Andrew Runcorn;_

_ Yesterday almost became another dark day in the history of the Wizarding World, as Death Eaters attacked twin brothers Gideon and Fabian Prewett in their own home in Ashington, Northern England. According to Senior Hit Wizard Alastor Moody, who led the strike team that responded to the situation and whom this reporter was able to interview after the incident, a single pair of Death Eaters appeared first and set up a portkey prevention ward, to stop the well known Phenomenon from occurring, before the main force arrived and began the attack on the house defenses._

_ According to the official report, there were seven Death Eaters in total, and they attacked with the same bloodthirst the Wizarding World has come to expect from You-Know-Who's followers. The Prewett twins, both professional Quidditch players with Appleby Arrows (in the position of Beaters) and long-time opposers of You-Know-Who, managed to fight them off for a time, but they would have been overwhelmed and killed had the mysterious Black Phantom not appeared on the scene. _

_ Indeed, by the time the Hit Wizard and Auror response team arrived (an anti-apparition charm had forced them to apparate farther off and approach on brooms or on foot), chaos had already been sowed._

_ "He was just kind of there all of a sudden," elder identical twin Gideon said while being tended to in St. Mungo's hospital for spell damage._

_ "Then he was popping all over the place, turning into these flocks of ravens every time," Fabian added._

_ Thanks to the combined efforts of the Black Phantom and the law enforcers, five out of the seven Death Eaters were captured, including the assault leader, one Antonin Dolohov, the man responsible for the dark curse that got Gideon Prewett landed with a three-week stay in the aforementioned spell damage ward. His brother's testimony blames the situation on a dark curse described like "an arch of purple fire" that cut Gideon across the torso and abdomen. Fortunately, he will make a full recovery._

_ The reason the other two dark wizards escaped was an appearance by You-Know-Who himself! Statements from eyewitnesses regarding the exchange between the self-styled dark lord and the mysterious vigilante suggest the attack on the Prewetts had been organized as a way to flush the Black Phantom out. Taunts were made, before a spell exchange occurred and both wizards -soundlessly- disapparated (the two remaining death eaters had failed to maintain the ward under fire and fled). The Black Phantom apparently disapparated and the Dark Lord followed his trail._

_ Normally, that would be the end of our article, but this reporter took it upon himself to find out everything that could be connected to the incident. After a thorough investigation into strange wizarding and muggle sightings, it was established that the furious chase took both wizards southward along the coast, from Ashington to Blyth, then South Shields, then all the way down through Hartlepool, Middlesbrough, Scarburough and Bridlington, followed by a ludicrously long-range apparition to the top of one of the tallest building in London, which the muggles call the Aviva Tower. There, a "bright flare" happened according to witnesses awake at the time (the hour was 10:25 PM). The prevalent theory is that the Black Phantom had a trap set up there in case he needed a diversion to get away, or perhaps he had predicted the likelihood of eventually being lured into a trap himself._

_ So once again we have to ask: who is this mysterious wizard? After painting an overall positive image with "The Portkey Phenomenon," however annoying to the MOM, his initial appearance was tied into the world-shaking disappearance of the Potters and Sirius Black, the latter of whom, a highly-respected Hit Wizard on par with Mad-Eye Moody himself, was found in a completely different part of England, unconscious and with no memory of what happened after his own escape from Death Eaters during the same night when Lord Potter (former Hit Wizard himself) and Lady Potter vanished along with their baby son. And yet all the subsequent appearances of the Phantom have placed him on opposite sides with You-Know-Who, to the point where He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named himself has come out to hunt him down._

_ Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, had this to say: "We must treat the matter of this unknown Wizard seriously. While some of his activities seem to paint him as an ally, neither has he made any effort to show himself a friend of the Light, and the Ministry of Magic still has yet to hear anything about the Potters or their innocent baby boy. This man is an unknown, and unknowns, especially in times of war, are dangerous."_

_ We at the Daily Prophet vow to find out all we can. Perhaps one day soon the face behind the hood, and the man beneath the black cloak bearing the silver serpent, will be revealed._

**...**

Ted wondered just how annoyed Dumbledore was at having never gotten the portkey idea himself. Or the apparition and portkey beacon charms.

Regulus had popped up in the middle of their living room that night, riddled with cuts, bruises, burns and traces of dark magic. It was his reward for deliberately not masking his apparition trail in order to lure Voldemort away and let the Aurors and Hit Wizards bag and tag the downed Death Eaters.

He'd have probably been left with a couple of large scars on his body if he didn't know dark magic himself. Under Ted and Andromeda's shocked eyes, he cast flesh rotting curses at the wounded areas, essentially melding his own dark magic with the one already there. Then, when he cast the counter curse, he neutralized it all, allowing their healing magic to work unimpeded. It all made sure there was no permanent damage or scarring, though he did get forced into several days' worth of bed rest. Leona had been beside herself with worry.

The Tonks had reluctantly agreed to learn that dark spell, and a couple of others and whatever counter-curses Regulus found, so they could perform the same maneuver in the future if necessary.

Just in case Regulus popped up in the middle of the living room.

Like right then.

He looked just fine, his black battle robe in perfect condition. The perfect image of an untouchable enigma.

Then he dropped the glamours and other illusions.

One look at him was enough to make Ted duck his head and produce a heavy sigh.

15 minutes later, the young wizard was finally breathing properly again. At least there was no need to cast dark magic this time. "Okay, what happened? You're looking mighty pissed."

Regulus made a noise between a hiss and a scoff. "The dark lord and some Death Eaters attacked the McKinnon family. I was too late to save the grandparents, but Marlene McKinnon and her next of kin are fine. Dumbledore and his order showed before I ran out of tricks."

"Did they try to catch you again?"

"Oh, no, perish he thought!" The young man growled, ignoring the soreness in his now clean injuries. "What annoys me is that the Potters decided to show up mid-fight for some reason. At that point Dumbledore and the dark bastard had already reached a stalemate, so they both saw the two there, fighting Death Eaters alongside everyone else. I noticed Moody aiming his wand at me though so I made myself scarce."

Ted's wand paused above his shoulder. "So what does that mean exactly?"

"That my scheme is out. I wouldn't be surprised if the spy the dark bastard has in Dumbledore's order finally learns where they've been. Even I have a good guess, and I was never told."

The older wizard was quiet for a time. "Well, your trick still lasted a year. I think it's impressive. Besides, I doubt Sirius and whoever else was let in on the secret could have pulled the wool over everyone else's eyes for much longer."

"Maybe, or maybe this is a disaster." Dropping his face in his hands, the young former Death Eater released a shuddering breath. "Thanks for the help Ted. I'll let you enjoy the rest of your night now." With that, he disapparated from the house.

Shaking his head, the healer shuffled back to his room and went to bed. He'd call Marius in the morning to tell him he should have a father-son-ish talk with the lad. Merlin knew Regulus would need it.

"-. .-"

The alarm that felt like a static discharge was one that Regulus only set for Sirius' belongings. So when, on Friday, October 23, 1981, he got jolted and lost his footing while carrying a plate of fried pork to the dinner table, he was understandably concerned. Enough that he didn't bother picking up or cleaning the bit of fried meat that fell from the plate on the bearskin rug.

When, five minutes later, he apparated on the higher boughs of a large oak in Richmond Park, London, he felt like he'd been hit with a confundus charm. And not because he was in the same spot where he pulled that crazy stunt last year, though that was part of it. The reason was the sight of Sirius and James Potter dueling like there was no tomorrow... using absolutely nothing besides harmless stinging hexes.

It was so bizarre that the younger Black scion just stayed crouched on the branch and stared at the sight.

"This isn't working, Prongs," Sirius eventually said. The spoken words finally let Regulus jerk himself out of his stupefaction.

Assenting to the pause in the spell exchange, James Potter eased his stance. "We've only been at this for less than ten minutes Sirius. You're not tired are you?"

Sirius scoffed. "I'm just saying that maybe we should have gone with the original plan."

"_Your_ original plan you mean?" The other man looked at Sirius as though he'd just declared that he was going to marry his cousin Bellatrix. "The one where I cast bone breakers at you in the hopes that the anti-portkey ward we set up will butt heads with the 'severely injured' clause and send out an alarm like last time?"

Sirius muttered something that Regulus thought was "Better than your suggestion to do it to you instead."

Palming his concealed face, the younger wizard apparated to a tree closer to the edge of the clearing.

Sirius tensed. "Hold on." He waved a hand for silence and looked precisely at the tree where his brother had just appeared.

Eyebrows raised, the former Death Eater silently apparated to the ground behind a tree on the other side of the clearing.

Sirius' head turned in his direction again, though he did not see him. Twilight had already come and passed after all. "I think he's here."

The black-clad wizard frowned and disappeared. "Let me guess..." He was standing right behind his brother, mere inches of air between their bodies. His wand was pressing against the back of Sirius' neck. "Nonverbal human presence revealing charm. I'm guessing you're trying to get a hang of keeping it on all the time? I suppose having an otherwise empty head _would_ help in such an instance."

Sirius was in the path between him and James Potter, but his face didn't need to be visible for his grin to be heard. "Wandless actually. And I've already gotten the hang of it."

Which was when a soft light drew the younger one's attention downward. It was a wand. Sirius's wand was sticking out through the space under his left arm, almost close enough to press against Regulus' sternum. "Touche." Taking a couple of steps back, he waited until both other men were facing him. "From how you two were ever so ferociously tossing stinging hexes at each other, I'm assuming someone cracked my magic concealing charms and modified my portkey alarm and beacon to activate at 'slight discomfort' instead of 'severely injured'? Who was it? Dumbledore? Emmeline Vance?"

"My wife actually!" James Potter said proudly, walking closer and waving his wand to raise a rather impressive privacy bubble. "She walked in on us while we were discussing the worth of what is now Plan B."

"Let me guess," Regulus drawled. "Black offered to let you break a few of his bones in order to activate the Clause?"

"Yup!"

"Hey!" Sirius shouted at James, revolted. "As I recall, Lily walked in on us while _you_ were telling _me_ to curse you instead!" Looking back at the bemused Black Phantom, the Hit Wizard leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "She threatened to use a castration curse on him."

"I heard that!"

"What do you want? A medal?"

"Can we get to the point?" Regulus snapped, losing patience. Mostly because he _still_ had to put effort into stopping himself from hugging the lights out of the idiot and coming clean, even after all that time. "I _do_ hope you aren't going to tell me Mrs. Potter is going to go on a crusade to make my portkeys and beacons useless?"

"No worries!" Sirius rushed to reassure him. "It took her _ages_ to figure out how to circumvent your charms and modify the clause without causing the chain to fail. She's not keen on repeating the performance."

It occurred to him that Sirius used the word "ages" just to be annoying and make it impossible for him to guess just how long it took. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking, he rolled his eyes. "Whatever." Then shrugged. "And before you ask, no, I am not going to join your order of the fire chicken." There was silence. "I'm guessing that's at least part of the reason for you two luring me here?"

Sirius grinned and spun on his heel, holding out his hand at James, who'd walked over to stand with them. "You owe me fifteen galleons."

Making a face, the other man dug through his robe pocket and dumped the money in the open palm as if the gold had personally insulted him somehow. "I'm still in the lead."

"No you're not!" The disowned Black was overflowing with glee. "You were two points ahead and I just won three! One for him refusing, one for him refusing before we even got around to mentioning it, and one for him calling it the order of the fire chicken instead of phoenix! Are you trying to chicken out, James? Are _you_ a chicken?"

"Right!" The third wheel broke in, making to turn away. "If that's all, I'll just be on my way..."

"Wait!" Potter grabbed him by the arm, though not too roughly. "For shame, no sense of humor, fine." He let go. "Dumbledore didn't exactly ask us to invite you."

Regulus analyzed that statement. "I'd ask if he told you to capture me but I suspect he'd have sent Moody along with you if he had." A pause. "For all the good it did in the past."

"Dumbledore _did_ raise the possibility of recruiting you at the last order meeting, after our ruse got found out," Sirius said. "But that would be contingent on you revealing who you are and, I guess, lots of other information, which, I think, won't be happening?"

"Quite."

"Thought so. Well, that's why the only ones who know of this meeting are us and Lily."

The black void hiding his face made sure his surprise wasn't visible. "Why _did_ you come out of hiding?"

"Magical transport beacons," James sighed, rubbing his face. It dawned on Regulus that the man seemed really tired. "We figured it would be okay if we let our two closest friends know about everything so they, at least, could visit Harry and us. But the... place where we were didn't allow access to anyone, by floo, apparition or portkey, unless we first invited them in through the front gates. And to do _that_, they first had to be side-along apparated or bought by portkey to the spot in front of said gates, right outside the wards..."

"One of them had porktey or apparition beacons on him for some reason?"

"Both actually," Sirius said. "And they sure were hidden well."

"I see," Regulus rubbed his chin. "And they managed to broadcast for a few seconds before they entered the wards."

"A lot longer than that," James muttered. "One of them wasn't allowed in. I swear, the wards on that place... it's like they have their own mind."

"Griffon's Eye, right?"

James looked startled.

"Come on, advanced wards like the ones you describe are rare. And after I made everyone think I abducted you, it makes perfect sense for you to choose the most brazen option and go live the good life in your ancestral home. The unplottable castle that no one knows the way to, but which has somehow been used as the spot for many soirees anyway, thanks to the wonders of the Floo network and Portus spell." He shrugged. "I honestly don't understand why you didn't move there earlier."

James looked annoyed. "I know I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but in a couple of months it won't matter because they'll be changed. It's the wards on the place. They've been repelling people with no explanation. Some random order members and acquaintances of ours were bad enough, but they're even repelling one of our friends! And even Dumbledore!"

That was interesting information, and explained why Dumbledore hadn't managed to get the place set up as headquarters. "Well maybe the place is trying to tell you something?"

"How droll," James deadpanned. "Let's not get into a discussion about whatever you have against Dumbledore right now."

"Whatever," the dark wizard spun his wand between his fingers. "If not that, _why_ did you get me here?"

"We want to ask for a favor."

Regulus had to hand it to Potter, he sure knew how to be blunt. "I doubt the idea of me kidnapping you would sell as well the second time."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Sirius droned.

James must have figured he would best just come out and say it. "We want you to come make some portkeys for us."

The young one's eyebrows shot up, though no one could see that happening. "Don't heads of Noble and Ancient Houses have the knowledge and permission to make their own?"

"Only to our properties," James answered. "Besides, it's a moot point. _Your_ portkeys are the only ones that, apparently, can't be tracked."

It was true. After The Phenomenon, the portkey office and Department of Mysteries finally got their asses in gear and set up a surveillance system that could track portkey travel. It had taken Regulus a week to incorporate a null spell-bubble charm into the spell, one that would prevent the magic surge from having an effect on the environment and being detected. "You think there might be spies in the Department of Magical Transportation?"

"Apparently there are spies everywhere," Sirius almost snarled.

_Even the Order_ was loud and clear, though unuttered. "I'm surprised you're going behind Dumbledore's back with this."

"So you'll do it then?" James asked, pointedly ignoring the main role of the remark. Maybe the ineffectiveness of the Order was finally chafing on him, Regulus thought.

He waited, making a show of considering it even though he's already decided. "Honestly answer one question for me."

James and Sirius shared a look, and the former agreed. "Let's hear it."

"The dark-lord-of-hyphens is after your son isn't he?" Both former Hit Wizards stiffened, though Regulus almost missed it. "Nothing else makes much sense. You and your wife openly defied him multiple times before he was born, and then once again when that mess with Black getting targeted as a way to get to _you _happened." He was counting off the points on his fingers, acting at ease though he was coiled like a spring. "Then you agree to my totally _impulsive_ idea really easily, and Dumbledore somehow consents to having you out of action for over a year, despite being two of the top fighters and/or researchers in his organization. Despite you, Potter, being something of an icon for people because of your accomplishments as a Hit Wizard.

"So unless you suddenly became a coward, the only reason you would give the world the finger and go into hiding is if you needed to safeguard something you cherish more than the rest of the world, but who can't slap you on the back of the head for daring to consider them helpless like I assume your wife sometimes does. Merlin knows my great-aunt did it often enough."

James and Sirius stared at him, speechless. Well what did they expect? He'd had a whole year to think about this, and there were too many signs.

"But why would a baby draw such attention? What did you do to piss the dark lord off so much that he would take revenge by doing something to your brood?" he really was just curious. "If I didn't know that the dark lord doesn't put much stock in Divination, I'd even say a prophesy was involv-"

A silent stunner an binding hex shot from Potter's and Black's wands so fast that Regulus almost didn't disapparate in time.

Anger seldom awoke in him, but this as one of those rare times. "Let me guess." He was yards way now, behind them, though they instantly whirled around to face him again. His voice almost didn't stay even with how fast his heart was beating. "You were going to stun, obliviate me, or probably deliver me to your hypocrite of a leader." His words came out as a hiss. "And yes, he _is _one, just like you two! And he probably doesn't realize it, again like you two!" Let it never be said Regulus Arcturus Black did not have a good grasp of dramatics. He even had his wand pointed at them now, and they had theirs pointed at him. "I suppose your request was a ruse too? To get me to come along wherever so that your fellows could capture me? The _Light_ side! Such a joke!"

"No, wait!" Sirius exclaimed, his tone rather forceful. "We really were serious about that!" He pushed James' wand down and glared at him until the latter stiffly took a step back.

"Riiiiiight!" The words needed release. "You're just going to ask me to go wherever you're going to hide out next? Me, a stranger that no one knows what to think about? Then what? Obliviate the encounter and location out of me? You're telling me you won't do more, like bind me and pump me with veritaserum? You just turned on me for reaching a conclusion that even a third year Hogwarts student would be able to draw!"

James winced and Sirius looked particularly uncomfortable. "Look," Sirius sighed. "You're right, okay?" James glared at him reproachfully and grabbed his arm, but Sirius ignored him. "The dark wanker is after Harry, for whatever reason. Now consider that you had a kid that yes, you were ready to discard the whole world for, and a maniac like that wanted to kill him, wouldn't the stress leave you a bit prone to rash actions?"

"That explains Potter. What's _your_ excuse?"

His brother gave him a look so intense that he could almost see magic crackling behind his eyes. "James is my brother. In heart, in blood, in magic." Regulus could feel something stirring somewhere as that choice of words was uttered. "He and Lily live for Harry now which means Harry... is more important than _anything_."

If he said, right then, he wasn't shocked, it would have been a lie. For that matter, James had let go of the man and was looking at him like he'd never seen something like him before.

Regulus wasn't ready to believe them yet, though. He was probably paranoid, but so were they. "Let's back up then. Despite you being so paranoid about his safety, you would call _me_, someone you only met _once_ and _trust me_ not to send the portkeys to who knows where? Unless you thought you might be able to squeeze an unbreakable vow from me and make me agree to have the location of your hiding place obliviated... I'm telling you now, my mind is my own."

Sirius sighed, ducked his head in despodency and began rubbing his forehead. "Well, this isn't going as well as I'd hoped."

"Quite right," James said gruffly. "I suppose we really _didn't_ think things through."

"Prongs-"

"No, Padfoot, he's right. This meeting was a bad idea. Yes! Even though it was _your_ idea. We only managed to leak important information. And he's right about the other thing too! We _were_ going to ask for an unbreakable vow that he'd do the portkeys properly! He was a Death Eater for crying out loud!"

"And he could have taken Harry last year when he got one over us! He could have delivered all three of us to the bastard!" Sirius shot back. "You said it yourself! Hell, _you're_ the one that convinced Lily not to go against this meeting, or tell Dumbledore about it."

Staring at the two as they kept arguing, albeit without raising their voices, Regulus really couldn't help but wonder what possessed them to think any of this was a good idea. He rather agreed with James right now. Were a couple of portkeys worth the risk or hassle? Especially since anti-portkey wards would be used if Voldemort or his Death Eaters ever decided to pay a visit? Why call _him_...?

Then again, Sirius had a point. Would they call and trust a former death eater? No. Would they think a third party could help, one that somehow proved effective against Voldemort while acting in spite of Dumbledore? And who has a reputation of apparent intangibility? Maybe.

"You know..." His idle tone managed to cut both of them off. "You _could_ just go home, get the baby's crib and whatever else and bring it or them here. If it's your son you want safe, the crib should be enough, right? Then we can settle for exchanging vows. I'll vow to place whatever destination you want on the Portkey. I'll even make them reusable so you can use them to go back and forth for proof. I'll even vow not to disclose said destination. In exchange, you vow not to enable or facilitate my capture or obliviation until ten seconds after I leave."

By the looks on their faces, it was obvious they didn't expect this olive branch. They looked embarrassed at the fact that they didn't think of it themselves. "See Prongs!" Sirius said, smirking. "I _told_ you he was a nice guy! _No one_ who knew uncle Alphard well enough that he keyed them to the wards and allowed them to make portkeys to his cottage can be a bad guy!"

Regulus stared, wondering if his brother was serious. He decided not to voice the question, since Sirius would probably say "Of _course_ I'm Sirius!" completely seriously.

At least he definitely didn't suspect they were family if he said that.

Not too much time later, James made a trip via apparition to wherever his new hiding home was and returned with the shrunken piece of furniture. It took a while, which meant he was using Hit Wizard diversions to mask his trail. After they made the vows, James enlarged the solid and fancy-looking crib. They decided on "mortal peril" as the clause.

The time it took for everything to be done allowed Regulus' mind to drift and he decided to bring up an idea he got while looking into magical means of concealment for Marius and the Tonks. The Black Library really was fountain of knowledge, and he _was_ really passionate about charms.

Finishing the enchantment and tapping his wand one more time, he waited for the blue glow to fade before looking the others in the face. As common courtesy, he pushed back his hood, revealing yet another polyjuiced look. He even drunk from his flask for good measure, like last time. "Polyjuice, yes. Now tell me something. Has anyone ever told you about the Fidelius charm?"

The looks on their faces were comical.

And their half-open mouths were just as awe-inspiring. "Well," James said rather waveringly, voice a bit higher-pitched than usual. "I suppose you really _might_ have had a point about the whole thing being possible to deduce through conjecture."

The silence was deafening.

And Regulus looked at the two, realization dawning like the summer sun, a stark contrast with the chilly autumn they were living through. "You were going to use it anyway, weren't you." No answer, but the silence spoke volumes. "That's why you weren't worried about me going there. Because I'd have forgotten about the place anyway as soon as the charm was cast."

Sirius looked sheepish. "You really were a Slytherin at Hogwarts, weren't you?"

Sweeping his fingers through his unfamiliar mop of brown hair, the younger Black let out a huff. "Look. I'll come here again on the first Sunday of November. _Don't_ pull this trick again. I'll be here for an hour from 9 to 10 PM. If, by then, Lady Potter is finished with her arithmatic analysis of my handy work, and _Lord_ Potter is done testing them, you can shrink and pack everything you feel could be useful as a portkey, from clothes to pieces of furniture, doorknobs, rugs and jewelry, and bring them over. After that, we can talk about me providing you with the notes on the spells so you can do it yourselves." He paused. "Assuming Lady Potter doesn't crack my way of making undetectable portkeys, in which case good for her."

James Potter looked at him for a long minute. "I'll keep the offer under consideration." He said shortly. "I'm assuming you added alarms and beacons as well?"

The Black Phantom titled his head. "The locator won't work if the Fidelius is in place, but we can discuss a workaround for that next week if we meet."

James nodded. "Good." Then, as if weighing the pros and cons of the idea, he extended his hand. "Thank you for everything you've been doing."

Regulus was surprised, but not unpleasantly so. Potter really seemed sincere in his gratitude. So the young Black shook his hand, noting the feel of the Head of House ring as he did so. "Be safe then." Breaking the contact, he nodded to Sirius. "Black." That done, he turned and walked away before vanishing. A string of ten short range apparitions with side-alongs sent in reverse wiped his trail before he disappeared from London.

"-. .-"

The doorbell chimed for what must have been the hundredth time, so Leona and Marius both went to answer. Regulus handed the woman the nearby bowl of sweets but pretended not to be emotionally invested in the act of passively assisting the trick-or-treating practice. Not a difficult task, since he really wasn't all that fascinated by the muggle tradition of children dressing up and going from door to door, asking for candy on Halloween evenings.

Halloween 1959 would have been Sirius' birthday if their parents had gotten their way. Orion and Walburga had used all the fertility potions and checked all astronomical alignments when they decided to conceive, in the hopes that the birth would happen on All Hallows' Eve. They thought the event would ensure a strong heir. Well, they got a strong heir alright. Baby Sirius forced his way out of his mother one and a half months in advance. It turned out that he was so strong, physically and magically, that he developed faster and didn't need to be confined in Walburga's womb for the whole nine months.

The birth happened on September 17. Looking back, Regulus wondered if that might have been the means chosen by the Heir of Black to show he was going to be against the will of the family from the very start. Or maybe Sirius just didn't want to spend more time inside their rather spiteful and insane mother than he had to.

Regulus was lounging in an easy chair just to the left of the living room door. He wished Fil had shown up for another one of their meetings. The last one had been a couple of weeks ago. He enjoyed their philosophical discussions, and the training was good too. He absently held out a hand to receive the bowl of sweets as Leona glided back into the room, but he never managed to move it to the end table on his other side. A jolt brought his reminiscence to a screeching halt and made him lose hold on it.

The whicker bowl fell on the rug and scattered the candy everywhere.

He disapparated immediately and without a word. The suit-up was a well ingrained routine at that point. It only took him two minutes to be ready for action, but as soon as he was ready to will himself to the location of his alarm beacon, he froze in stunned realization. There was no pull.

His mind floundered in confusion. The alarm he'd received felt like the one he'd put on Sirius' things. That meant his clause had come into play. And yet there was no beacon guiding his awareness where he needed to go. For a moment, he thought that perhaps the alarm had gone off but he'd miscast the beacon... He dismissed the idea immediately upon receiving another jolt. A second alarm.

There was only one thing he'd put two alarms on. "The crib..." And there was no pull. No hint as to what direction he should take to where to apparate or portkey to. "Fidelius!" It prevented even that enchantment from broadcasting. "Damn!" Vanishing, he found himself back in the living room. Leona looked startled and Marius paused in his words. He was on the phone. "Is that Ted on the phone?" He asked quickly.

The elder Black nodded and rushed aside when Regulus descended on the receiver with a speed that made it seem as though he'd apparated again. "Ted!" He heard a yelp of pain as the man got the shout in the ear. "Ted! Something's happening to-" he cut himself off. Somehow, he doubted this was something that should be talked about on the phone. "I'm coming over." The receiver was left to drop uselessly as he vanished with a silent rush of air.

He appeared in the charmed-off apparition spot on the lane where the Tonks home was located. A quick disillusionment charm made him invisible to most eyes. A notice-me-not on top of it made sure muggles wouldn't even see the slight blurs his chameleon shroud would leave behind as he sprinted down up the street towards the townhouse the Tonks lived in. Glad that no children were trick-or-treating the house at that exact time, he let rushed to the front porch and pounded on the door. It would have taken longer to cast an apparition ward at home and flash over.

As soon as he did, Ted pulled the door open. "Get in, hurry!"

Regulus was already past him. His disillusionment faded and he barely looked at Andromeda's worried face before looking at the man of the house. "The Potters are under attack." Both paled. "But it seems they've already gone under a Fidelius. My beacons are broadcasting but there is no direction. I don't know where to go. Quick! Is there any chance you were told the secret?"

"What secret?" Ted asked, stunned. "We wouldn't even know they'd gone into hiding again if you hadn't told us."

"God dammit!" Regulus swore, rubbing his face. "They must have told the secret to the spy! Or the spy slipped some sort of explosive or trap into the possessions of one who got invited over to wherever they are now." Stopping the pacing he didn't realize he'd started, he turned grim. "Okay, nevermind then." Pulling his right sleeve back, he tapped one of the beads on his bracelet and felt a pull behind his navel whisking him away.

He appeared 10 seconds later in Holsworthy, Devon. "Homenum revelio." Performing the spell verbally allowed him to extend the range. Nothing. He apparated to the other side of the small settlement and cast the human presence revealing spell, to similar results. No suspicious activity. No potential death eaters skulking about.

Tapping a different bead on his bracelet, he vanished in a blue swirl of color and rematerialized in Ottery St. Catchpole. This time it took three apparitions and revealing spells to reach the same conclusion. Nothing.

The third of the 12 beads deposited him in yet another wizarding settlement, and Regulus cursed in three different languages that he didn't know where Sirius lived now. With each new revealing spell he cast, it became more and more obvious that his search was an exercise in futility.

A searing pain speared his left forearm. "Aaagh!" He collapsed to his knees, almost falling off the roof of the mill he was on. The pain was like a wave. It rocked him all the way to the core of his bones. It made him dizzy and unable to think or do anything other than clutch at the Dark Mark.

Then, as quick as it had come, the pain dulled and faded. Sweaty and with labored breaths, Regulus pulled his sleeve back and stared in confusion at the mark as it fell inanimate, motionless. It faded even, until it was just barely more visible than a normal scar. Minutes passed, and he still couldn't understand what it meant.

Eventually, he got back to his senses and resumed his search.

Three hours later, he'd been to his main portkey spots several times, and still nothing was turning up. The beacon kept singing in his mind but he didn't know what to do about it and he teleported back home. He spent the night and morning in a frenzy, pacing and phoning Ted to ask for news every hour, not letting him sleep at all. Marius and Leona tried to calm him down, and eventually his great-uncle pushed him in a chair and told him in no uncertain terms to stop digging a trench in the floor.

Then, at around 9 in the morning, Ted finally made a call of his own. The news left Regulus speechless: Voldemort had found the Potters somehow, killed both the Lord and Lady Potter and then died when he cast the Killing Curse on Harry but it rebounded, destroying him instead. The Daily Prophet had rushed a special edition out on that November 1'st, 1981, and owls were flying all over England, telling everyone the news. Witches and WIzards had taken to the streets to celebrate the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, disregarding the Statute of Secrecy in their euphoria.

The young wizard wordlessly handed Marius the phone receiver and collapsed in the nearest chair. He felt disjoined. He'd never actually thought the war would end, especially not so soon, but whatever relief it brought was completely dampened by the knowledge that Sirius had just lost his _family_...

He only managed to stay still for less the an hour before he started portkeying and apparating across Britain again. He didn't know what he was looking for. Death Eaters on a revenge rampage? News that said it had all been a misunderstanding and Voldemort was still terrorizing everyone?

No, it was a much simpler feeling, the wizard decided as he materialized on top of the Tower of London. He wanted to run into his brother. "Consequor." Nothing. No tracking charm ping. Sirius wasn't anywhere within ten miles, like he hadn't been any of the previous times, or he wasn't wearing any clothes he'd spelled.

He went on in that vein all day, until night fell, and then it was like a veil of ice had been lifted from his mind and the magical transport beacon, which had been a constant presence at the back of his mind all day, filled his awareness with crystal clarity before falling silent.

"Oh no..." It was far away. Near the shoreline of West Country, and he didn't have a portkey that went straight there. "No matter." Standing up, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and took a few deep breaths. Then, doing something that he thought he'd never need to do again, he focused on the lingering impression of his beacon and spun on his heel, blindly disapparating.

The translocation was the first in two years to conclude with a loud crack in spite of his intentions, but he didn't really register it. The first thing he saw was the door of a cottage. It had been blown in by some sort of magical attack. It was lying in splinters. Scorch marks and soot covered much of the hallway, and there were traces of dark curses everywhere. Striding ahead through the cottage (a distant part of his mind noted that it was a bit too unassuming for the Lord and Lady Potter), he poked his head in every room he came upon.

The sight of James Potter lying dead against the only wall of the living room that was still somewhat intact arrested him for a long moment. The furniture was in pieces and his arm was lying at an angle. He must have been blasted through the door and across the room until he impacted the tall glass case. Looking away, he moved on, more quickly this time. His search became a bit more frantic with each step and, soon enough, he was upstairs. His history with dark magic made sure he could feel the traces of the killing curse clearly, and he was amazed and disgusted at how strong it must have been.

He entered the nursery, and he stopped in his tracks again. Lily Potter was lying on her side on the floor, in front of a now empty crib, and there was a bundle of black, charred fabric next to her. Regulus stared at it, unable to process what he was seeing. Shakily, he traced a pattern with his wand. "Vestigium Revelio." The air prickled, magical residues being amplified and brought to the forefront of his awareness. The feel of that magic was all too familiar and intense. He had no doubt now that Voldemort had been there. That the empty robes on the floor belonged to him. Whatever had happened, it had destroyed his body like rumors said, as well as half the roof and the walls. It explained the dark mark...

Rushing through the rest of the house, he was relieved not to find Sirius dead anywhere, but the relief was tempered by the distinct lack of Harry Potter. No body, no trace of him, nothing.

Overcome by a strange sense of urgency, Regulus soundlessly apparated back to the front of the house and pulled a pair of goggles out of a pocket on his utility belt. Once he had them on, he tapped them with his wand and his vision changed. It lost some of the outlines and let colors blur into one another. It was like a cat's night vision but different.

Nothing. The only trace of apparition was the one he'd produced when he arrived. He absently neutralized it as he let his mind put together the disparate pieces of information he'd gathered.

The Fidelius had fallen, which meant that the secret entrusted to the secret keeper was no longer true.

The Fidelius had only fallen less than ten minutes earlier, which meant it had _not_ fallen when James and Lily Potter had died the previous night.

Harry Potter was not found dead in there, and there was no fathomable reason why someone would remove his body without removing his parents' bodies too. For that matter, the Aurors had yet to come and investigate. James and Lily had probably been left there for forensics purposes by whoever came to the house between the event and the fall of the Fidelius. In other words, people who knew the secret, whom Sirius and Dumbledore probably were among.

That meant young Harry was alive, or had been alive when he was taken away, just before the clause of the portkey beacon went dormant and Regulus, arrived. Presumably because the baby was no longer in the crib or nearby, or actually _living_ in that house anymore.

It stood to reason that the secret of the location referred to the Potters in general terms. Probably something along the lines of "The Potters live in..." Godric's Hollow apparently. He vaguely recognized the place from a summer trip he'd taken during what should have been a Hogsmeade Weekend in his third year.

The Potters no longer lived there, which meant there was no secret to safeguard anymore.

Portkey arrivals forced Regulus to interrupt his mental deliberations and soundlessly vanish. He reappeared on the roof of a townhouse a fair distance away. Not too far to prevent him from seeing who'd come but hopefully far enough that human revealing spells of regular range wouldn't reach him.

Aurors. They'd finally come to investigate. Regulus wondered if maybe it wasn't such a good idea to use the Fidelius if it prevented law enforcement from being able to find your location.

Pulling his goggles over his eyes one more time, the wizard confirmed what he'd learned before: no one had left by means of apparition. Or they masked their trail, in which case he couldn't do anything about it.

Pocketing his goggles, he pulled out a broom, enlarged it and hopped on it. An apparition took him a hundred meters skywards. Thinking quickly he figured that if he was in West Country, it meant that if anyone left by air, they probably went East-North-Northeast. "Point me." The wand spun and settled, showing North.

Using that as a reference, he estimated the correct direction and bent his knees, shooting on his chosen path, the sole of his left foot covering the tip of the broom shaft as he leaned forward. Not appreciating the speed, he apparated fifty meters in front, then chained another fourteen jumps before he got a reason to hold off on translocating any further.

The faint roar of an engine snatched his attention. Squinting his eyes, he peered through the night air and thanked his lucky stars that it wasn't a moonless night. Yes! The bike! It reflected the faint light that shone through the cloudy sky.

A feeling of relief surged inside him. It almost made him apparate right next to him, or in front of him, but the thought of young Harry made him pause. If Sirius was grief-stricken and taking Harry wherever he was taking him by bike, it probably wasn't a good idea to pop out of nowhere and potentially startle him enough to, Merlin forbid, drop him. Remembering what his brother had said about a constant human presence revealing charm, he decided to apparate a ways above and to the right, just inside his range.

When he appeared close enough to tell shapes apart, there was no reaction on the part of the rider, but Regulus himself almost cried out in shock. The massive, hulking shape bent over the motorbike wasn't Sirius. What on earth was Hagrid doing there? Why did he have Sirius' bike? Where _was_ Sirius?

And was that...?

Risking a closer look, Regulus disillusioned himself and the broom and drifted nearer, though he still hovered above the half-giant. Yes, the basket held the baby. What in hell was going on? What was Sirius _thinking_ handing a that baby over to _Hagrid_ of all people? So much for Harry being more important than "anything."

..._unless _Hagrid gave him no choice and overpowered him... but Regulus doubted that was the case. Hagrid wasn't the kidnapping type, and Sirius could have probably taken him if it came to it...

..._unless_ Regulus was wrong about his assessment of his character, just like he'd been wrong about Voldemort and his agenda. But again, there was no dead or unconscious Black heir anywhere, and if there had been a fight that led to such a serious exchange of blows, an alarm or beacon would have probably been activated for him too. "Dammit, Sirius," he whispered to himself. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of hard blow all this must have been to his brother. "Where the hell are you?"

It was times like these that Regulus regretted his failure to make a long-range alarm and beacon activation spells. He just hoped his sibling didn't do something rash, but a foreboding feeling in his chest didn't really allow that hope to take root. Hopefully he hadn't disposed of all the portkey clothes he'd made. That way he'd have a warning if he got into a sticky situation.

"-. .-"

Regulus didn't apparate straight back into his room. Instead, he materialized in the apparition point on Sunshine Road, Greater Whinging, and slowly walked to the house, his mind adrift. He needed the time to think, even though he was exhausted. The flight from Godric's Hollow to _Little Whinging_, of all places, had taken more than half the night. The bike couldn't nearly reach full speed with that heavy load, and Regulus had trailed after him, under a disillusionment charm, because he didn't have any better ideas. He hoped Sirius would be there to meet Hagrid and whoever else would be there...

But he _didn't_. Instead, the big oaf delivered the baby to Dumbledore, who proceeded to dump him on the front step of a muggle family like some worthless parcel. It almost made Regulus flash in and start yelling at those three cretins, yes, even Dumbledore, and ask what the hell they were thinking. It didn't help that he'd had to stay well out of the way, high above. If Sirius could perform wandless, nonverbal revealing charms, Dumbledore probably could too.

He'd only been able to hear part of what they were saying because of a hearing enhancement spell he cast on himself. It made him hear even a blade of grass moving, and he thanked the heavens it was a relatively quiet night. It let him withstand the influx of noise without passing out, and he caught a bit of what his former Hogwarts teachers said before they all left.

The young wizard clenched his fists at the memory.

_"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall. _

_ "Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever." _

_ "Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" _

_ "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."_

_Scars can come in handy- _Kept echoing through the wizard's mind. _Scars can come in handy._

_"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."_

Regulus had been livid at the sight, and the words... the brazen bastard. The Potters and just died and he says they may as well go celebrate with everyone else. Sure, Voldemort was gone, but that... that was such a _callous _thing to say...

The former Death Eater had been completely determined to take Harry Potter with him to Andromeda's house and keep him there until he found Sirius and they had a chat. It was past time he revealed himself anyway. But then he read the so-called letter. The news that the woman living there was the baby's aunt made him pause. It didn't really make him change his mind about taking Harry tough. She was a _muggle_.

But then there was the information about the so-called blood protection spell Dumbledore claimed to have cast on Harry, which Lily Potter's sacrifice would supposedly power for him and the family if they took him in until he turned seventeen. Reluctantly, he conceded the point that some Death Eaters would want to hunt down the one who fell their Dark Lord, even if he was a baby. And especially if they believed his claims of immortality and thought he'd only disappeared instead of getting vanquished. If nothing else, the kid would be safe for a few weeks until more appropriate guardianship was arranged, though he would have to come and actually check to see if the so-called wards were real, and what they did.

So he didn't rashly kidnap Harry Potter. Rash actions were Sirius' thing. Instead, to at least be able to tell his brother he'd made sure the kid was safe before leaving, he cast some basic health diagnostic charms and, figuring he was well enough, added a warming charm on young Harry, plus portkeys tied to his general physical state on every blanket and piece of clothing Dumbledore had seen fit to include in the shipment. He would come later to check on things and do a more thorough medical scan.

Then he stayed concealed until dawn, when he rung the doorbell, even if it was too early for normal people. A horse-faced woman opened the door and looked like a deer in the headlights. One that had also swallowed a lemon. The way she craned her neck to make sure no one saw anything as she pulled the basket inside the house made Regulus want to smack her, female or not. What was Dumbledore _thinking_? Was the old man going senile? And if he was, how come no one noticed? And why was the ministry and the Wizarding Orphan Service allowing this?

... _unless_ the old man circumvented the system. The relocation definitely happened awfully fast. Only about a day passed between Voldemort's demise and the fall of the Fidelius charm. Regulus was sure the old man had visited the house in that time. The way he talked about the scar made it clear he'd seen it beforehand. Had the guy even taken the baby to a physician? The beacon on the crib had been made to stay on even if the "mortal peril" passed. The clothes and nappies would have caused the same pull, since James had included them in the portkey favor, but the fact remained that the beacon led him to Godric's Hollow, meaning the boy had been there all day... next to his dead mother, or in the same house anyway.

Dumbledore must have wanted to make sure the odds of anyone walking in on him while he cast illegal blood wards was minimum. Otherwise, he'd have taken the baby to Hogwarts.

Regulus wondered if Sirius had stayed at the house during the day. It definitely looked like someone had cast some healing magic on the boy, though it might have just as easily been Dumbledore. Still, the young Black had a hard time believing his brother would go anywhere during that time, especially since Dumbledore had probably left to spread the news and report to the Aurors what had happened. The news of the downfall of the dark lord and Harry's miraculous survival, not to mention the scar, must have come from somewhere.

And since Hagrid had been the one to remove the baby from there, it suggested Regulus had missed his sibling by mere minutes. Where had he gone? Why would he let Dumbledore do that to Harry? Blood wards or not, it was a bad idea to dump the kid there, and he would tell his brother so as soon as he got a hold of him. "Dumbledore knows best because he's Dumbledore" wasn't going to fly this once. Not if he had a say in it.

The Black Phantom snorted, turning to walk up to the door of the house. The old man probably didn't need to circumvent the system at all. Everyone would probably go along with whatever he said. At least Hagrid had an excuse for being so loyal and naive. Giant parentage didn't exactly help intelligence. But the rest of the wizarding world? Not so much. Merlin knew Voldemort remarked on that flawed mentality often enough.

He was about to reach for the door handle when he decided that apparating past it would be easier, so he did just that. Too tired to remark on the irony of apparition being simpler to him than opening a door, he advanced through the hallway, forgetting to take off his boots. He headed to where he could hear Marius talking on the phone.

"No, Ted, he's not here yet," his great-uncle said. "I don't know where he is! He never tells us!" Regulus couldn't hear what was being said in the receiver, but he felt a bit guilty at the worry in his uncle's voice. "Wait, what's so urgent?" The feeling of foreboding returned with a vengeance, then Marius shouted in shock. "What do you mean Sirius has been arrested?!"

"WHAT?!"

Marius spun around so fast that he almost lost hold of the receiver. Next to him, Leona, who was leaning in to listen to the conversation, whirled around and looked like she had a heart attack.

Marius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what to say.

"What... when.. what did you...?" Regulus tripped over his own words, spellshocked... but then a different mindset took over and he pulled out his wand faster than he'd ever done it in the past. "Accio Pepper-Up!" The motion settled perfectly into the first stages of the blue anti-apparition rune ward. He'd have drunk the one in his belt, if he hadn't downed it during the night flight.

By the time the potion flew from upstairs into his waiting off-hand, he was half-done with the array. "Tell Ted not to scream if he wants to make sure his daughter stays sleep." He was almost done with the ward. "He might even want to put up a silencing spell around his study, which, I am guessing, is where he is calling from?" Marius didn't move. "_Now_, uncle!"

The older man rushed to do as he was asked.

And the wizard finished his charm, drunk the potion, tossed the vial aside and disapparated, a silent space jump depositing him right in front of Ted's desk. "What do you mean Sirius has been arrested!"

"Dah!" Ted _did_ drop the receiver. The plastic implement hit the side of the wooden desk with a dull clamp and the somewhat older wizard brought a hand to his chest. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Answer me dammit!"

"Not until you drink this!" The man tossed him a flask. "I _mean_ it!"

Recognizing it as a calming draught, Regulus reluctantly drunk all of it. That did not reduce his abruptness though. "What do you mean Sirius has been arrested."

Ted did not seem altogether satisfied by the tone, still strained as it was, but he knew that was as calm as he was going to get. "Sirius was arrested by Aurors on Oxford Street, just off Tottenham Court Road in London."

The young wizard stared at him, disbelieving. When Ted gestured to the chair in front of his desk, he mechanically slumped in it. "... How? _Why_?" Then his brain asked a better question. "How do you know?"

"Aurors, we don't know, and an acquaintance told me, in that order." The Black scion looked at the older wizard, wondering how he didn't realize how inappropriate it was to try and make light of the situation like that.

Ted seemed to understand. "Sorry, just trying to remove the tension. As I said, Aurors got him. I know because one of my acquaintances happened to be in the area and contacted me just as after it happened. According to him, Sirius cornered a short, plump, mousy brown-haired man on the city street. My informant didn't hear the first exchange, but then the short guy shouted for the dozens of people there to hear, and I quote, 'Lily and James, Sirius? How could You?' Then he made a move with his wand and there was an explosion that killed twelve people and temporarily knocked my source out. Fortunately, he recovered in time and made himself scarce before the newly arrived Aurors and obliviators noticed him. The last thing he saw was Sirius, unresisting as Aurors shackled him and took him away by portkey."

Regulus was motionless, his hand grasping his wand in a granite grip. On a normal day, he would have picked apart Ted's words and seen how suspicious some of them were, how suspicious the convenience of his so-called source was, but that was no normal day. His mind was welded on a single question. "When was this?"

"Regulus, I don't think-"

He got to his feet so fast that the chair fall backwards. "WHEN!?"

"Less than an hour ago." Which meant just around 4 in the morning. "Regulus wait-!" But he'd already spun on his heel.

He wasn't overly familiar with Tottenham Court Road, but knew the area well enough to apparate to the top of the Leicester Square Station, a ways south of it. From there, it was easy enough to spot the crowd and listen for the police sirens. The ongoing fire was a dead giveaway too. _Strange_, the part of his mind still rational said. There should have been a special team sent to deal with the issue. That muggles were handling it suggested that something muggle had been involved in the explosion.

The smell that wafted in his face when he appeared on top of the Dominion building confirmed it. A gas leak. The obliviators and magical catastrophe team probably took too long and prevented the muggle authorities from being notified of the problem earlier, hence why the gas pipe hadn't been isolated yet. Yes, Pettigrew had probably hit a gas leak with whatever spell he used. He probably would not have managed to blow up the whole street otherwise. The crater reached all the way to the London Underground.

It did not even occur to Regulus to consider that Sirius had been the Potters' backstabber. Sirius was completely devoted to James and his family, which meant he would never betray them. What did baffle him was that he wasn't used as secret keeper. It made him wish James and Lily were still alive just so he could yell at them for being so stupid. What could have possessed them to use Peter Pettigrew of all people?

Putting on his goggles, Regulus surveyed the area, trying not to strain his eyes too much. The fire really appeared strange in that spectrum. Odd. No traces that he looked for could be found. While there was evidence of apparition, the Aurors must have left by portkey straight to the auror office. It was the only thing that made the complete lack of disapparition traces make sense -no, there! There was one right next to the staircase leading to the underground.

Translocating as close as he could without disturbing it, he made sure he had a notice-me-not and disillusionment on before he looked at it more closely. It was muddled, as if the one doing the apparating tried to cover their tracks, but it was fairly recent, all things considered. Odd. Pettigrew had supposedly fled much earlier. Sadly, Regulus didn't have a better lead, and he was confident he could follow it, so he did just that. Stepping on the exact spot, he spun on his heel and tried his best to "know" the magic.

He appeared on a deserted alley not too far away from his previous location. He didn't need the vestiges revealing spell to feel the traces of a spellfight. The craters in the concrete and large indentations on the walls of the blocks were obvious enough. Taking off at a fast trot, he followed the messy trail, all the way to the end of the alley and past the sheared mesh fence until the signs stopped and only an apparition trail was left. Regulus immediately followed it, noting it felt more recent than the last.

His hunt took him to another side alley in a similar state, then the top of a building, then a deserted playground and yet another grimy alley. Only one garbage can had hints of misfired curses, suggesting that the fight had turned into a chase. Finding an apparition trail that felt as though it had only been left behind minutes earlier, he concentrated and appeared on the other side.

His transition was smooth and silent, as always, and left him... in a dark side alley that stank of human waste. Covering his nose and mouth with his hand reflexively, he belatedly noticed the noise of running water coming from an uncovered manhole nearby. Running to it, he peered down. His goggles had the side-effect of giving him something akin to night vision, though one where outlines were barely distinguishable. It was the only reason he could see down there, because he didn't want to risk using a Lumos spell in case whoever he was following was close.

Knowing there was no time to lose, he jumped down, featherweight charm allowing him to land very lightly. He splashed into sewage deep enough to reach his ankles, and he thanked his lucky stars the dragonhide boots were knee-high. The noise of filth and water gushing out of a ruptured pipe covered his descent. "Vestigium Revelio." Blasting curses and reductors had been cast there during the past ten minutes. There were huge holes in the largest drainage pipe, as if someone had run alongside it, after the current, and tossed destruction spells at it repeatedly.

Regulus followed the sodden mess, breathing shallowly. When he considered that a bubblehead charm might be needed, his thoughts were hijacked by something else. A juncture. The pipes turned downward and there was a ladder leading down a tight passage. Sewer water poured through it, dripping off the ladder bars.

So the wizard once again jumped and let himself fall into the darkness.

When his feet touched down and he landed in a crouch, he noticed with some surprise that the place he was in now was lit. Dimly, but still lit. The occasional neon was still functional, allowing him to figure out where he was: a pipe subway. There was a row of pipes of different diameters, including the very wide one that had been punctured on the sewer level above, taking up most of the space on the right. But there was enough room to walk and spread equipment around, in case the system needed repairs or renovation. And the arched top of the cavernous construction was surprisingly high up.

Hastily pushing down his bemusement, Regulus reapplied his disillusionment charm. Not content with the nightvision-like view provided by the goggles, he detached and pocketed one half to allow one eye to see normally. "Homenum revelio." Nothing. And there were two ways he could go. Damn.

Taking a spur of the moment decision, he shot a transparency spell at the pipe he'd followed down, to see which direction the water flowed. The pipe was barely a quarter full now, due to the damage higher up, but it was enough. Then, he pulled out his broom, sat on it normally for once, and took off.

They were the most anxious two minutes of his life, but he struck gold soon enough, and he didn't even need a human revealing spell, though he made a point of casting one every 30 seconds. The dim light didn't really let him see perfectly, but the glow of the far off lumos spell was unmistakable. Settling on the ceiling again, affixing the hem of his coat to his ankles with sticking charms, he pocketed the other half of his goggles and focused.

Then he was disillusioning himself, crouching on the brick tunnel top right above... Augustus Algernon Rookwood?

Regulus almost facefaulted. What in the world...?

The grey-haired, clean shaven, marked Death Eater was wearing his bluish-gray Unspeakable robes, but his hood was down and he was digging through a side pouch. Finding what he was looking for, he enlarged it until it was as big as a fist, revealing a familiar-looking, rune-covered cube. The he almost gave Regulus a heart attack by looking up and banishing the cube to stick to the ceiling, a mere foot away from Regulus' head. So he'd somehow figured out how to include a small power stone instead of depending on existing ones.

The old man brandished his wand with a speed that belied his age. "Expulso!" With a loud gong, a chunk of the largest pipe was smashed apart. Then the Unspeakable performed a rather impressive bit of transfiguration and morphed the sheared metal into a sort of latch, cutting the pipe off. The filthy water began pouring out of it, having no way to drain further. It started spreading across the floor of the pipe underground highway in a pool of dark water.

Rookwood was looking at some strange palm device. "Oh no you don't!" With a crack, he was a hundred feet up current. "Reducto!" The spell punctured the pipe, leaving a hole about a couple of feet across. "Aguamenti!" A huge stream of water shot from the tip of his wand into the hole, and Regulus could hear it as it came rushing out through the other gap.

The torrent gushed out and sputtered, washing off some of the murk. The water level went back to the mild outpour it was before the water spell, revealing a dazed, half-drowned and thoroughly sodden rat. Rookwood apparated back where he was before and advanced menacingly on the dazed animal, his footsteps splashing ominously. "Here, ratty ratty ratty..." The rodent in question squirmed and stumbled on all fours, but it was too late. A bright blue light came out of Rookwood' wand and hit it right in the head.

The animal twisted, morphed and started to grow in size. The snout drew back and the whiskers regressed, until there wasn't a rat's head there, but a man's, with an untidy mane of hair and front teeth that stuck out. The shape of the nose was reminiscent of the animal the disgusting person had just been. The paws lengthened, becoming arms and legs, and the brown fur faded into a half-torn shirt and cotton pants.

The wizard hanging upside down was stumped. That talentless oaf Pettigrew was an animagus? Surprises never ceased.

"Expelliarmus!" Rookwood yelled. A red beam of magic hit the fat man in the chest and sent him careening backwards. His wand, looking very much like the tail of the rat that he was, flew out of his hand and reached the Unspeakable's hand. "Really Wormtail," the old man hissed. "Trying to flush yourself down the drain? Even after escaping through the sewers didn't work out the first time?"

Regulus didn't realize he was essentially a bystander. His eyes were riveted on the face of that slimy bastard. He could _feel_ his own contempt and rage directed at the man. It was obliterating the calming draught still in his system, ounce by ounce.

"A-Augustus!" The ratty-faced man wheezed. "Stop this! You're attacking in grief, not thinking straight-"

"Really now!" The old man's face had morphed into a malicious rictus. "I'm not thinking straight you say! Now why ever would you think that? Reducto!" The curse swept by Pettigrew's ear and exploded against the concrete behind him, cutting off whatever he was going to say. "Is it because I want to tell you a story? Come on, Peter, indulge an old man! Stop running away and let me tell you a story."

"What are you-"

The Unspeakable's cutting charm left a gash on his cheek. "This is a story about the Dark Lord and one of his devoted Death Eaters." Rookwood slowly advanced on the rat, who was scurrying back on his elbows and feet. The Unspeakable pointed his wand at a broken piece of pipe and transfigured it into a cat. "'My loyal Death Eater,' the Dark Lord said,' our rat has come to tell me he can give me what I wish for most. What say you? Shall we believe him?'"

Pettigrew whimpered. _That's right_, Regulus seethed internally. _Crawl like the coward you are._

"The Death Eater knew better than to question his Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord knew he knew this. 'Quite right. A rat is a rat,' he told the Death Eater. 'Betrayal is what defines those worthless animals. But that's easy enough to deal with, is it not? We just need to collar it.'" Rookwood transfigured another cat. "And maybe get a cat or two, just in case."

Pettigrew looked terrified, and with good reason. Regulus was definitely picking up on the meaning of that story.

"So the Death Eater brewed a potion and made sure the rat drunk it without suspecting a thing. A nice spell weaved in the liquid would let him always know where the rat was." Peter squeaked, not unlike the rat he would likely have already become if not for the fear of being eaten by the cats. "So that the cat could always find him if he thought he could betray the Dark Lord. So tell me, _Wormtail_. Why did you think it was wise to betray the Dark Lord?"

"I didn't-!"

"Don't lie to me!" Rookwood yelled. "You and your blood traitor friends and Potter's mudblood whore set a trap for the Dark Lord, didn't you!"

"You-" a cutting curse clipped his wild hair and left a deep cut in the concrete behind him.

"What happened to the Dark Lord? Why did the Dark Mark fade? Where did you lead him to Wormtail? Tell me!"

"There's nothing left!" The rat yelled back with rare boldness. "There's..." But he was reverting to the sniveling coward he really was. "There was nothing left but his burnt, empty robes! He killed James and Lily but when he cast the killing curse on their son, it rebounded, destroyed half the house and his body along with it! That's what happened! Harry was only left with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead!"

The Unspeakable was lost for words. "You lie!" The old man glared at the fat, hunched coward murderously.

"No I'm not and you know it!" Wormtail pressed. "You just said the dark mark faded! What other explanation is there for that?"

"The dark lord is immortal!"

"Then you should be out there looking for him instead of hounding me for no reason!"

"For no reason!" Rookwood snarled. "And next thing you're going to tell me is that that's what you were planning to do yourself? Look for the Dark Lord?"

Regulus sent an unseen tracking charm and the older man and disapparated in spite of the anti-transportation ward cube.

"Maybe I wa-"

Regulus materialized to the Unspeakable's right. "Expelliarmus!" Rookwood's wand flew from his grasp. "Accio wand!" Peter's wand left his other hand. "Incarcerous! Depulso!" The old man was tied and smashed into the bare wall and held there through sheer force of will. A nonverbal sticking charm made sure he stayed there, spread-eagle, and the black-clad wizard pointed his wand at one of the bricks an earlier reductor had smashed apart.

It turned into an iron cramp, and the wizard flicked his wand, hurling it at the Unspeakable. It speared the muggle construction and pinned his right wrist to it, shearing fabric. Regulus would have driven the points through his flesh and bones, but he needed him alive. Fortune had handed him a second witness and he was determined to exploit that opportunity for all it was worth.

Three more nonverbal transfigurations and banishers had cramps securing the older wizard by both arms and legs to the wall, and it all took but fifteen seconds, not enough for the shock of his appearance to wear off.

Well, he _was_ the infamous Black Phantom.

He cast a silencing charm on the man and turned slowly, looking with utmost contempt at the poor excuse of a man, though the black void hiding his face let none of the raw emotion show. With deliberately relaxed movements, he flicked his wand upwards, summoning the cube from the ceiling, which he then slipped in a pocket in his long coat which was larger on the inside than the outside. "Hello _Peter_." He said. "Fancy meeting you here." A swish of his wand subjected the rat to what was essentially a wind slap, thought one might assume it was meant to get some of the filth and sewer water off him.

Whatever words may have been on the tip of the rat's tongue, they made way for a tight gasp. Murky sewage splattered everywhere as Pettigrew struggled to regain his bearings.

"I couldn't help but overhear this interesting discussion between you two." Maybe it was the calming draught. The wizard's voice was light and casual. "And really, when I heard that absurd theory being branded about, I just _had_ to intervene and dispel the misunderstanding. I couldn't have this 'Devoted Death Eater' here killing you after all. You and a certain friend of yours still need to finish your talk." He advanced on the fat man slowly, and the coward scurried back. "Though I suppose 'friend' might be too strong a word at this point."

"He tried to kill me!" Wormtail squeaked. "Even after all these years of being friends!"

A cold fire ignited deep inside. "Yes, so I've heard," Regulus drawled. "How many years have you been friends for exactly? Ten years now, am I right? Surely whatever misgivings you have can be mended. Your friendship must be stronger that this, shouldn't it? You should be able to talk it through. You both need your remaining friends after what happened."

"No! No, you don't understand! He's shown we were never friends! And he'll just spin his tales again! They'll all believe him and-" But it was clear his meaning was different.

"Oh, and why would you think that? And who's they? The Aurors? Black? Lupin? Your Order?" He stopped walking and glared down at him. "Or your Death Eater friends?" It was a sneer Snape would have been jealous of. "Sounds to me like they're not happy at all. Voldemort went to the Potters on your information and he met his downfall there." Peter flinched. "Afraid of your Master's name, Peter? Afraid of what his supporters would do to you? What Rookwood here would do to you? Don't worry!" He pretended to lower his guard. "I'm not going to let them get you."

"You... You're not?" He was either suspicious or hopeful. Or both. Or neither.

"Of course not!" Regulus was quick to reassure him. "No one's going to kill you. We'll just get you to the Aurors, get some things cleared up. If we hurry, we'll be there just in time for Sirius' trial."

"No! Black's one of them! They'll never... never believe me over him if... if he says I betrayed James and Lily-"

"Don't you dare speak their names! Not after what you did!" A nonverbal summoner wrenched the fat piece of meat forward. Watching the rat man fall on his face in the drainage, Regulus didn't know where the outrage came from, but he knew why he felt it. "I've been trying to figure out how a worthless piece of garbage like you could have caused the downfall of the Potters. At first I thought you'd slipped some sort of explosive or poisonous package into the possession of the secret keeper, but Voldemort went there himself, which he could not have done if the secret keeper hadn't told him."

"It wasn't me!" Peter yelled, desperate. "It was-"

"Don't even waste your breath!" A banisher sent the rat hurtling across the water-covered floor. "I agree that Potter and his wife were stupid not to make Sirius their secret keeper, however obvious it would have been to anyone who learned the Fidelius would be used. But don't think blaming him will work with me. Especially not after the nice little story Rookwood shared with us."

"You-y... You Don't understand! Sirius-"

"Don't speak of him!" Wormtail was blasted straight into the same wall that Rookwood was welded to. "I will _break_ you if you say his name again!" His wand was pointed at the immobilized, terrified rat, and the wizard reached up to pull his hood back, if only to let Pettigure see the full measure of his fury. "You killed my brother's family and you _dare_ set him up to take the fall for it as well?"

Wormtail made a strangled, pitiful sound when he finally recognized him. "R-r-r-Regulus Black-"

"You will rue the day you _dared _harm me and mine." The black-clad mage released the sustained banisher and the rat man collapsed on the floor with a thick splash. He choked on sewage and pushed himself up and back, his eye wildly looking from him to a way of escape, but finding one. "You sold Lily and James Potter to Voldemort!" Regulus wasn't shaking yet, but Pettigrew was. "Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was disgusting to watch, like an oversized, slimy baby cowering on the floor. "What could I have done? The Dark Lord… you of all people should have an idea… he has weapons most people can't imagine… I was scared! I was never brave like S-... like him and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me -"

"Don't lie!" Regulus yelled. "You'd been passing information to him for a year! You planted that hexed cube in Sirius' motorbike! _You_ applied the tracking beacons on yourself and Lupin when you were finally led to the Potter home! You were the bastard's spy!"

"He - he was taking over everywhere!" gasped Pettigrew, struggling to stand. "Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him? You yourself didn't!"

"At least I saw what an error it was! Are you really enough of a moron not to?" Regulus could barely believe what he was hearing. "You're telling me you, who were always so close to three of the people who shone brightest, couldn't tell what could be gained from opposing the most evil wizard who had ever existed? Despite the fact that even a pureblood fool like me could figure it out on his own?" The scion of Black could _feel_ his magic vibrating in rage. The foul water was rippling away from him. "What could be gained? Only innocent lives Peter!"

"You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew as he crawled to his feet. "He would have killed me!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" Apparition magic blasted a trench through the water, and Regulus' fist smashed into Pettigrew's jaw with enough prejudice to send him staggering. "You should have DIED!" He struck him again, send blood everywhere, and then again, with a side-kick to the face that drew a pitiful, keening noise as the rat flew through the air and splattered, _crumpled_ to the floor. It made Regulus feel like a fraud. _Sirius _should be the one there, venting. _Sirius_ should be the one yelling those things, getting release, avenging his brother and sister, but the hatred Regulus felt for the rat wanted release too. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS! AS THEY WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Wormtail wheezed and tried to crawl away, spitting out a tooth, but Regulus grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, throwing him against the wall opposite the one Rookwod was stuck to. His wand appeared in his hand again, and the wizard jabbed it forward, pinning the useless sot in place.

The hatred needed release, the contempt wanted acknowledgement. Wormtail would _see_ and _know_ what he'd done. He would _understand_. "Everbero!" He only barely refrained from casting the first Cruciatus in his life, because he needed Pettigrew sane and capable of providing testimony. But as he watched the bludgeoning hex pummel the rat-faced man, he argued that he didn't need him to be in perfect health to do it.

Wormtail mumbled or tried to say something, but his voice was faltering, and Regulus was several good meters away at that point. "Speak up Wormtail!"

"Bo... Bombarda!"

As unexpected as it was, the retaliation wasn't _totally_ shocking. Regulus managed to recover from the surprise in time to intercept the white ball and deflect it away. It exploded a part of the wall behind him and to the left. "Expelliarmus!" The rat was yet again thrown off his feet and the spare wand flew to the other wizard's hand. The feel and white look of it overtook the young wizard for a long moment. "Is this...?" Yew. 13 and a half inches with a phoenix feather core. "You salvaged Voldemort's wand Peter? What would he say to you using it I wonder-"

"Reducto!"

Regulus barely apparated away in time. One spare wand was strange enough, but a third surprised even him. The reductor curse smashed another part of the wall, and he didn't really have time to worry it was the same one Rookood was stuck to. Straining his eyes to see through the dust, he focused and flashed into existence beyond the falling debris. "Animans revelio!" A wave of silence erupted in all direction, highlighting a fleeing rodent red. "Accio Wormtail!" The rat was suddenly flying at him, so Regulus cast the spell to force him back to human, nonverbally, and sidestepped.

The fat man once again smashed into the floor of the underground pipe highway, though this time there was significantly more grime than liquid waste. Thinking he should stop wasting time, Regulus pocketed Voldemort's wand and sent a silent stunner, but Pettigrew somehow rolled around and raised a hasty shield. Desperation and adrenaline let the rat block two more spells, and Regulus disapparated again. "Expelliarmus!" The third of Pettigurew's wands, James Potter's, left his grasp and flew to Regulus waiting hand.

But Peter somehow managed to produce the last wand he had just before he hit the floor with his back, eliciting a drowned grunt. "Avada-"

"-Kedavra!"

Rookwood's gravelly voice shouting the killing curse from behind almost shocked Regulus enough to freeze him on the spot, but years of practice allowed him to vanish just in time.

Two green bolts of murderous dark magic hit each other with a resounding gong that shook the underground passageway. The magical discharge was dazzling, and the former Death Eater could see why a rebounded Killing Curse had managed to destroy half of the entire second floor of the Godric's Hollow house. Even though he apparated five meters away, the was still thrown through the air by the air buffet.

The ringing in his ears faded just in time for him to hear Rookwood shout something. Pushing himself off his back, he hastily looked around, only to see the Unspeakable, with torn robe sleeves and bloodied joints, relieve Peter of his last wand. He was hunched forward, the evidence of his struggle against his bindings clearly visible on his body, from both before and after the wall was broken enough for him to escape due to Peter's misfired spells. And he was grinning victoriously. "Bombarda Maxima!"

The last thing Regulus thought before the spell erupted was that the earlier shout must have been a deactivation code for the ward cube. The overpowered exploding curse sailed unerringly towards the immobilized traitor and then, just a split-moment after a loud crack took Rookwood away, the world exploded.

Above the ground, right next to the manhole from which stench wafted, a black flash and silent rush of air dumped Regulus Black on his left side. The fall almost dislocated his shoulder, but it was a small price to pay for managing to teleport from there in the nick of time. The shockwave of the overpowered explosive spell could almost be felt in the asphalt's vibrations, and the loud explosion could actually be heard from the access chamber passage.

Half-dazed, the wizard made sure James Potter's wand was intact before putting it away and apparating to the pipe highway again. With as much haste as he put into his initial pursuit, he shot forward, but he'd been on that path before so he was able to just apparate there now, so he did. A chain of 100-meter jumps let him reach the place of confrontation in less than thirty seconds. As he expected, everything had caved in. Was _still_ caving in, though it was settling. He would not have been able to apparate right back in one go because there was no place to apparate _to_.

His reductor curses were frantic, and when he saw that the debris just turned into smaller rocks, he began transfiguring everything he could into birds. There was a whole flock of confused ravens flying off and around by the time he found something that wasn't rock, cement or sand, but at least he could order them to get out of the way.

The leg had not been severed. It had been torn off, blasted from the rest of the traitor's body. The appendage was a mangled chunk of bone and flesh, thick with blood and silt. Two more minutes of searching netted further body parts, some completely unrecognizable because of how badly they'd been shredded. When he found the head, Regulus needed no more confirmation that the backstabber had been blown to smithereens.

It should have felt vindicating, but the knowledge that he'd just lost the one thing that could get Sirius cleared of that misunderstanding shook the wizard to the core. Had there not been a large chunk of wall nearby to steady him, he'd have fallen to his knees. If only he'd stunned the old man. If only he'd just stunned them both from the start and been done with it. If only, if only, if _only_...

But instead of having a breakdown, the rage that had simmered inside him only found a different target. "Rookwood." His voice was dead, but his wand arm was not. An overpowered reductor curse opened the way to where he estimated the Unspeakable must have been when he disapparated, and a rather nasty dark curse of disintegration turned the obstructing wreckage into sand.

Putting on his trace detector on his left eye, he pulled his hood back on, feeling the concealing illusion cover him, and jumped in the apparition scar to follow it.

He soundlessly materialized in an alley he hadn't been to before. Morning had lit up the world somewhat. Immediately distinguishing another trace, he flashed within a meter of it and jumped, disappearing as soon as he was within its confines. "Consequor." He was under the canopy of a rather empty restaurant, and the mental echo of his tracking charm sounded in the back of his mind. Looking around, he spotted his mark across the four-lane street, hurrying to cut a corner. Frowning, the wizard translocated all the way to the mouth of the small passage right as Rookwood was turning on his heel.

Startled eyes met his veiled face for one moment before the unspeakable disappeared with a faint pop.

Not wasting time, Regulus followed after him, only to have to block a blasting curse as soon as he finished the jump.

The ensuing spell exchange was swift and brutal. It ended when Rookwood got banished and fell off the edge of the building, which Regulus only just realized they'd appeared on top of. "Damn!" Hurrying to the end of the building, he found that Rookwood had already disappeared. A normal wizard would have shied away from jumping after him in the hopes he'd apparate after him, but Regulus was no normal wizard.

He leapt and followed after him just fine.

Much like Rookwood had chased Pettgrew earlier, the injured older wizard was being hunted now. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Accio! Stupefy!" Rookwood blocked the first one, dodged the second, stumbled at the third and disapparated with a crack from the path of the fourth, but was followed easily. In a moment, the area had changed from the top of a different building to the middle of a street. A truck almost ran the unspeakable over, but he disapparated in the nick of time. A normal car almost hit Regulus, but he somersaulted over it, ignored the horn and managed to flash away yet again.

He didn't even need his goggles now, seeing where his target disappeared from was enough. "Rookwod!" A reductor missed the older wizard only because the scare caused by the yell made him stumble out of the way. "You can't escape me! I'll hunt you down to the end of the Earth!" Instantly he'd crossed the distance, air blasting away from him as he appeared mid-leap, almost grabbing the Death Eater but for his own disapparition. The scene had changed so fast that Regulus didn't even register the startled muggles setting up their stands in the marketplace, and he didn't care about them either.

"Lacero!"

Just as Regulus appeared, the cutting curse managed to slice his dragonhide vest and part of his chest but he teleported out of the way before the full brunt of it hit. His illusion spells would mask it, but the injury and equipment damage had most definitely happened. "Everbero!"

But Rookwood managed to gasp a shield charm before tiredly popping away, the phantom still snapping at his heels.

"Don't move!"

Regulus froze. He was in the middle of a wide, crowded sidewalk. Rookwood had grabbed a young woman, in her late teens it looked like, by the hair, and had his wand pressing against the side of her neck. Over two dozen people were staring at them with varying expressions, but they'd probably witnessed the man coming out of thin air, and himself, so the shook must have knocked their senses off target.

Raising his chin, the Black Phantom surreptitiously moved his wand arm behind his body, pretending to posture confidently. "Hiding behind innocent victims too, Rookwood? What would your mother think?" After learning how to conjure a silver rapier in less than a second, creating a steel, razor-sharp stiletto was child's play.

Augustus tightened his grip on the girl's hair, making her already terrified face twist into a grimace. "Here's the deal, boy. You go on your way and I don't tear this pretty head off. And don't think I won't!"

The stiletto floated to his other hand, unseen by all. "Now Rookwood, you've forgotten the first rule during a crisis situation." After all the ward bypassing he'd done, it was actually easy to send a small object ahead alone by apparition. "Which is to say, Negotiate first, attack last." The stiletto vanished and materialized three meters above Rookwood's wand arm. "I must say you've been attacking quite vehemently over the past five minutes." A wandless levitation charm pulled the knife straight down.

It went right through the Death Eater's wrist. "Gooah!" His hold on the girl loosened, and it was all Regulus needed. In a flash he was in front of her, his left fist pulled back. It swung forward, past her head and right into Rookwood's jaw. The movement sent the Unspeakable falling, and Regulus himself forward, enough to engulf the young woman and teleport her out of the danger zone.

He reappeared where he used to be a moment before, already setting her on the sidewalk asphalt. The transfigured dagger had already vanished, which was expected from such a rushed job. He made to go after his enemy, to apprehend him, but the girl had latched onto his robe without realizing it. It gave Rookwood the moment he needed to recover, snarl in rage and yell out "Confringo!"

"Contego Maximus!" Regulus bellowed. A transparent shield of force sprung to life in front of the three people closest to where the blast would have been. The blasting curse sounded like a church bell, but ultimately failed. A wandless revulsion hex got the teenage girl to unhand his robes, allowing him to apparate between a reductor and a middle-aged woman. He deflected it skywards and continued with a "Protego!"

"Diffindo!"

The cutting charm dissipated harmlessly against his defense, so Rookwood made as if to attack someone else, but Regulus lunged forward with his free hand and initiated a wandless summoning spell.

Rookwood managed to hold onto his wand, but Lily Potter's flew out of his side-pocket. Hissing in frustration, Regulus caught it, but for once Rookwood was faster than he was in his attack.

Dark red, lava-hot flames poured from his wand tip. "Lamiae Daemonion-

"Stupefy!" Regulus cried desperately.

"-Infernus Deflagratio! "

A wave of hot air assaulted the younger wizard as a literal conflagration spouted from the black stick of the Death Eater. The hot winds swallowed his stunner, the remaining magic fizzling against the Fiendfyre, one of the darkest curses known to wizardkind. The infernal flame surrounded the Unspeakable like a malevolent vortex, and Rookwood smirked, even in spite of the sheer effort the spell obviously demanded.

Then he spun on his heel and was no longer there.

But the flames still were. "Accio!" The terrified teenager was once again pulled out of immediate danger. Regulus caught her and pushed her in the arms of the nearest man, who was transfixed by the spectacle. The fire grew, defied all laws of physics. It was angry, red and orange. It became a horde of wild beasts. Serpents, chimaeras, dragons all melted into one another, but all wanted the same thing: to devour everything in sight. "Don't just stand there!" The yell barely knocked some sense into the man, but he was the only one.

A woman screamed.

"Sonorus," Regulus muttered, sliding his wand over his neck. "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

That finally broke the trance and people finally gave in to panic. With screams of terror, they made a run for it, some dragging their family along. "Quietus." Regulus couldn't chance a look back, even to check if they were far enough. Alone he stood in the path of the fiery hell, heeding not the hot waves that sent his coat fluttering and made his sweat evaporate as soon as it formed. "Crepitus!" The street cracked to pieces.

Four more of the spells rent the road into several large chunks. A wave of the wizard's wand lifted one up by the edge. It was a full story in height, and it fell flat on top of a fire beast, though it did nothing to banish the others. The flames just went over it, the Fiendfyre losing control more and more with each second, so the wizard quickly lifted another, but did not let it fall. Then another, and a third, then a fourth. The asphalt and concrete were corralling the creatures now, but still they tried to pour out. The heat was rising, but the cage had played its part.

Regulus gathered himself and took a deep breath, hot though it was. He knew that, theoretically, what he was about to do should be possible. He also knew it was dangerous as hell. Unfortunately, he didn't know any other means of handling this situation. The Fiendfyre could not be put out with water, or any other means he knew of, and it looked like it was going to escape from the rock cage any second.

So the wizard drew his arm back, and sent his wand in a forward jab. "Lamiae Daemonion Infernus Deflagratio!"

The world erupted.

Fire raised around him in a smoldering circle, looking like the mouth of hell. It spun like a twister, thought soon it, too, acquired all sorts of animalistic, bestial shapes. The wizard could feel the magic straining, rebelling. The fire spirits were outraged, wanted to consume him along with everything else, and they would if his will wavered, but he had a job to do. He needed to defeat the other devil fire. All hinged upon it. Rookwood, the bastard, had destroyed his means of getting Sirius out of the mess he was in, and he was going to _pay_. More, he was going to be the witness instead of the one he took away.

The Fiendfyre tried to force itself loose once more. It reared, came together in a cloud above him, like a looming dragon, but he held fast, his will becoming stronger the more the dragon fought, until the beast was forced to admit defeat and do as it was directed.

It jumped high, soared, then swooped down on the opposing pyre. Wings of plasma lit up the area, as though if sun had risen completely even though it had not. When the flaming spirits clashed against each other, everything just became brighter. It belied the dark nature of the cursed fires, and the heavy weight of the magic that had been summoned.

Regulus didn't really have the presence of mind to watch the fight between the entities. It was all he could do to keep his will iron-cast, until he finally felt nothing resisting the hunger of the demon fire he had summoned. Banishing the inferno was even harder than calling and controlling it, but he managed it.

The flames slowly died down, until there were just cinders. Then even those were gone.

Silence.

The road chunks he had corralled the Fiendfyre with were half-molten. They formed a hideous, smoking cage, but they were too tall and unbalanced, and the rebellious flame spirits had forced them apart, so they groaned and cracked, finally beginning their collapse.

They smashed against the upturned ground and street foundations loud enough to get Regulus' mind back in gear. The first thought that struck him was how odd it was that no one from the Department of Magical Catastrophes had been sent here to deal with this mess yet. Maybe they were all celebrating Voldemort's fall.

Moving as quickly as he could without letting his lightheadedness show, he advanced on the spot where Rookwood had disapparated from and spun on his heel.

Then promptly fell to one knee and groaned, grabbing his forehead. He felt like he'd rammed into a brick wall, only he'd suffered the impact in each and every one of his cells, not just the part of his body that hit it. Pulling his wand and beginning the familiar process of drawing an anti-apparition charm, Regulus idly thought that as far as anti-transport wards went, that was a fairly benign side-effect of trying to bypass one.

When he was almost done, he blearily looked around one last time. To his consternation, he saw a no small amount of people poking their heads from around corners, or staring at him from inside shops, whose windows had mostly been broken or cracked.

He decided it was best not to drag the situation further. The ward was complete anyway, so he relaxed his arms and vanished.

He found himself in a very small room. Closet really. Or was it an access hallway? The only door was ajar for some reason.

A human revealing spell showed no people in his vicinity, but he was still careful when advancing past the door. The sight that met him made his eyebrows rise. It was a safe house. While mostly spartan in appearance, the small chamber had all the necessities for a person's survival. There was even a shower room with a toilet and sink on the side. It made Regulus wonder why Rookwood hadn't teleported there from the start. Maybe he suspected he'd be followed anyway. Or maybe he didn't think of it until he figured he really had to make a run for it, to get far away. He _had_ seen him ignore anti-disapparition wards. Maybe that was it.

Most important, however, was the whiteboard next to the filing cabinet. It had over a dozen different IDs and associated credit cards and muggle wallets on it, ready to be taken at a moment's notice. Three seemed to be missing.

And then there was the filing cabinet itself, which had not been opened recently. It had dossiers on every one of the identities on the whiteboard. Regulus leafed through them and almost felt a grudging respect for the old man. Almost. His rage at him for stealing his chance to get Sirius free was still fresh.

They were identity papers. Not just identification, entire identity files. Birth certificates, IDs, bank accounts, different aliases. There were over a dozen different folders, each one with complete backstory description, job record, everything. Maybe Rookwood really did know about how the muggle world worked. How many people did he confound or Imperius to make all these? Had Voldemort ever known of this hobby of Rookwood's?

Absently casting the counter curse for the Lacero that had turned his torso into a bleeding stump, he cross-referenced the folder set with the ID cards on the whiteboard, Regulus narrowed his eyes as he drunk a blood replenishing potion. The bastard had fled, but Regulus _did_ say he would follow him to the ends of the Earth. Looks like he would have to do that in a more literal sense than he expected.

The IDs had been taken. That meant no photos showing the glamors the Unspeakable had applied to himself, or what polyjuice he would use. On the other hand, all the other data was there, so his activities could be tracked. Rookwood had been sloppy, or just in a hurry to make himself scarce. The lack of further apparition traces suggested he'd portkeyed away. Probably made one on the spot, since Regulus' spells didn't seem to find any pre-made ones anywhere. The best news was that the bastard had not taken along the master folders, so Regulus thought he should be able to narrow down the aliases he would have to be looking for.

And he knew just the people who could help with this. If they wouldn't, well... He wasn't a wizard for nothing.

"-. .-"

When he wasn't breaking in the homes of magicals and non-magicals alike, Regulus respected privacy. Usually. That is why him soundlessly apparating upside down on the ceiling of Ted's study was so out of character.

As he expected, the man was on the phone. "-don't know what to tell you, as I already said. I never learn of what he does until after the fact, and unless Regulus comes here for healing, it's usually Marius that calls to inform me." He paused to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. "I would very much like to do that-" he said sarcastically, "-but he obviously can't call me if I'm talking to you, can he? Contrary to popular belief, I do not, in fact, have one of those fancy telephones that can receive calls on more than one line. And you never offered to supply me with one, might I add."

Crouched on the ceiling, the invisible wizard acknowledged a grudging respect for the man's cheek.

"You know well I can't confirm any so-called strange things were his doing unless he talks to me about them." Pause. "Look, I know you guys are tense because of how -er- indiscrete wizards and witches have been today, but it'll pass. A maniac that was about to destroy the wizarding world just got offed. Wouldn't _you_ be out celebrating? I thought you'd be happy to hear of this." Pause. "Look, you know as well as I do that _you_ guys are almost always the ones with the most information, except on rare occasions when he comes over and I get to talk to him. This is not one of those occasions." This time, the pause was longer. "Wait, what did you just say?" Pause. "You just received a report about two strange people throwing fire at each other on the street in front of The Cardinal Vaughan Memorial School?"

Wow, news traveled fast. He'd only been in Rookwood's safe house for around fifteen minutes. One of the people who saw the Fiendfyre altercation must have been involved in this web of informants.

"What happened? Did he get out alright?" Regulus was surprised by how scared Ted sounded. "His fire somehow swallowed the other fire? That's all you can tell me?" Ted sighed and rubbed his eyes, though some of the tension in his shoulders left. "Look, if what happened is what I think happened, he'll come over here any minute, or Marius will give me a call." A wait. "_Yes_ I'll call in to give an update as soon as I can. Bye."

Regulus apparated right behind Ted the instant he put the receiver in its place. "So was that Mi5 or Mi6?"

"Diaah!" Ted almost fell off his chair.

Unperturbed, the younger wizard walked around the startled man and his desk, looking at the bookcase as if he'd never been in that room before. "The Security Service, Military Intelligence, Section 5, commonly known as MI5, would sound more logical, seeing as how it's Britain's internal counter-intelligence and security agency." Casually, he sat in the chair facing the older wizard. "But if Magical Britain were to be treated as a state within a state, as its own nation as it were, standard international diplomacy rules would apply, as would rules of engagement. So that would make everything I've been doing fall under the eyes of the Secret Intelligence Service, or Mi6. Which is it?"

When he finally got his breathing under control, Ted swallowed a knot. "Look, Regulus-"

"No need to stutter apologies," the younger man waved his hand randomly. "Given what Voldemort and his followers have been doing to this country, it would have been stupid for the nonmagical government to sit idly by. Besides," he sat back in his chair. "If I had a problem with you reporting all of my movements to whoever you've been acting as informant for, I wouldn't have answered each and every one of the questions you ever asked me over the past two years. You were fairly obvious about it after all. And it was on purpose at least in part, right? Or did you think I was just boasting?"

Theodore opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered.

"That said," Regulus continued. "Since I have been willingly relaying my movements and acting to the benefit of _all_ British citizens, magicals and nomagicals alike, I consider the debt I owe to Her Majesty's Government for getting me a new identity settled." His eyes became hard. "_Unless_ you thought it wise to promise them my services or some other thing on my behalf." Leaning forward and meeting both hands' fingers together, he gave Ted an intense look. "_Did_ you, Ted?"

Stiffly, the man shook his head. "No, I... No. I didn't."

Relaxing, the young Black sat straight again. "Wow, informant for the secret service and you haven't picked up any manipulating bastard tendencies? A nice surprise, I admit. After the new identity you gave me, well, while I did not expect the worst I also didn't expect the best."

The other wizard inclined his head. "At first, I think I was going to, or at least let them do something of the sort." Ted visibly gathered himself. As surprising as that admission as, there was more. "Then you made that quip about your fictitious self and... And that Rafael person showed up and I figured that, as strange as his wording and approach was... If _He_ didn't consider he had the right to meddle in your life without your permission, I really had no excuse."

Well, _that_ he hadn't seen coming. Not exactly. "I see." It was only then that Regulus realized he still had his hood on, so he pulled it down. "I'm surprised you didn't get bullied into doing whatever they wanted."

"I think you have a rather pessimistic view of humans." Ted said. "While it might sound surprising, the intelligence service, while it completely disregards notions of privacy whenever it feels it is necessary, it doesn't actually stomp on the rights of Her Majesty's subjects." The man smiled wryly. "Besides, my value as an Informant was very limited before you came along. And if push came to shove, I _could_ have refused to continue providing healing services to their secret agents. As it is now, the 'official' explanation is super-secret technology that only the Quartermaster knows about."

"And I'm _sure_ they know this as well," Regulus said. "Otherwise you probably wouldn't be brazen enough to say so when, if my suspicions are correct, this entire office, and probably the rest of your house, is bugged."

Ted's commiserating look said it all. "Before you ask, I've been assisting as a healer in order to, er, soften up relations? Since You-Know-Who and his followers have been killing normal people everywhere, they aren't very happy with us." _And frustrated with not being able to do much about it_ went unsaid. In theory, they could bomb the magical world in the hopes that genocide would have the lucky side-effect of killing the terrorist movement, but then they'd have to kill hundreds of thousands of normal people as well, since Diagon Alley, for example, was right in the heart of London. And they couldn't find the spot unless they were magical. Obviously, they couldn't justify doing that when Voldemort and his movement did less damage.

"Well, who is it? MI5 or MI6?"

"For my healing, both. The informing for the latter."

"Ah good." The young man produced the shrunken stack of documents and ID cards from his pocket. After making copies via magic (for himself), he explained what they were, what he expected they could be used for and what he intended to do next.

After examining the files, Ted gave Regulus an uncertain look. "You know this will essentially count as a personal favor? After all, your aim here is to apprehend a potential witness that would make your brother's trial easier."

"No," Regulus rebuffed. "I am giving them information they can use to help me apprehend a dangerous terrorist that used a high school student as a hostage twenty minutes ago, and who almost started an unquenchable fire that would have burned down that school and everyone in it. And just in case they try to bullshit their way out of it with plausible deniability by saying they don't really have listening devices in here, I'm _sure_ you have the necessary eloquence to spell it out for them a second time."

Ted winced at his blunt words. "What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Depends on their answer."

"It might not come immediately."

Regulus frowned. "Then I'll just need to have a chat with them myself, won't I?" As far as baits went, it wasn't a very subtle one, but the end result would be worth it, he was sure.

Ted didn't give the impression that he saw the underlying implication of that statement. "What will you be doing? Resting I hope?"

"I'm sure Marius and Leona will nag me into it as soon as I get home." Which was true. But so was the fact that he had no intention of going home just yet.

"I'll call the house with their response then," Ted promised.

Regulus nodded and disapparated with a deliberately loud pop.

And, naturally, soundlessly reappeared on the exact same spot on the ceiling, right behind and above Ted. The healer / informant rubbed his face with both hands for a while before picking up the receiver. Regulus internally cheered. He half feared MI6 would call Ted themselves, in which case he would not have gotten such a nice view of the phone number. Wondering if it made him selfish, the young man was glad Ted had, like him, skipped sleep that night and the one before last. It killed his situational awareness and made sure he didn't suspect or notice he wasn't really gone.

The young Black had cast disillusionment and the hearing enhancement spell on himself, so he heard the one who picked up. "Marlene's Pizza Delivery Service. What's your order?"

"Pepperoni and chicken with a sprinkle of arsenic and anthrax toppings." Regulus had to hand it to them, they sure had a unique sense of humor.

There was an odd noise, which probably meant the line was redirected, but no one spoke.

"I assume you heard?" Ted asked.

The voice that replied was deliberately cold and definitely female. Middle-aged, given the pitch. "I am not deaf if that's what you're implying." Ted straightened in his seat so fast he may as well have seen McGonnagal come through the door. "But to answer your questions, I heard a boy making demands. That is hardly polite after the situations he caused across London today. I cannot see how helping him cause diplomatic incidents, especially abroad, is in the interest of Her Majesty's Government."

The wizard slumped in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "What are you saying."

"Come now, Mister Tonks. You mean to say you cannot guess, even after all this time of working for us?"

"You're _inviting_ more chaos," Ted said plaintively. "If you don't help, or if you try to strong-arm him, he'll take matters into his own hands as he did on all other occasions."

"I believe it is the other way around," the woman said evenly. "He has finally run into a situation that he cannot handle but has seemingly convinced himself he is perfectly capable of going forward, and is only 'allowing' us to assist him for convenience's sake. Sadly, I cannot knock him off his high horse without speaking to him, so I am afraid I will have to insist on that chat. It is long overdue in any case, in no small part due to us respecting your choice to let him come to you."

Regulus disliked her already.

Ted almost didn't press, but he forced himself to speak again with heartwarming loyalty that Regulus did not really expect to be shown. "You're wrong about him. I should think everything he did to safeguard _your_ people instead of just his own would be enough to prove his competence and moral fiber."

"His competence is not in question," she said briskly. Noticeably, there was no comment on his morality. Maybe she wasn't one to talk and she knew it. "It is his ego I am concerned about."

"Or your pre-made idea of his ego." Ted ventured on. "But fine. I'll tell him what you said."

"Drop the files over at the usual site." A pause. "But you can tell him that we insist on a discussion or meeting," the voice firmly directed. Which meant they would look into everything as quickly as possible, but act on their own counsel and withhold the information until Regulus agreed to play by their rules. "As I said, it is long overdue."

"Very well." Ted was obviously reluctant. Maybe he, too, understood.

"Good day, mister Tonks. Pass our regards to your wife and daughter."

Regulus narrowed his eyes and dearly hoped that wasn't an implied threat, for the woman's sake. He disapparated a moment before Ted put the receiver down.

His translocation deposited him on top of a building in Petersfield, Cambridge. There weren't too many people around, but he cast a notice-me-not on himself anyway. That done, he apparated right in front of the telephone booth across the street, and cast a very strong notice-me-not and muggle repelling charm on it for good measure.

Once inside, he picked up the receiver and dialed the appropriate number.

"Marlene's Pizza Delivery Service. What's your order?"

"Pepperoni and chicken with a sprinkle of arsenic and anthrax toppings," he said airly.

There was silence at the other end. "Who are you?"

Bingo. "Someone that is going to talk to your superior unless she wants this boy to stop making demands and to go cause some diplomatic incidents instead." There was a long silence on the other end. Probably 15 seconds. They must have thought he was stupid or something when they said "Please hold." He did. He held for a whole half a minute more.

Then carefully allowed the receiver to hang uselessly from the line and disappeared.

Reappearing in Sudbury, he quickly materialized in a middle of a different phone booth and charmed it against muggles and waited 10 minutes before making the call again.

"Marlene's Pizza Delivery Service. What's your order?"

"Pepperoni and chicken with a sprinkle of arsenic and anthrax toppings," he said evenly. "And you may as well abort whatever team you sent to that random phone booth in Cambridge." He paused. "Your trace _did_ at least identify the town, right? Not that it would do you much good. Whatever number of people you deploy, they'll never notice the booth. Their eyes will just slide over it or they'll suddenly realize they had some other place to be." He stopped for a few seconds. "You _do_ have the necessary security clearance to know about these things, right? I mean, I have some really great stories to tell you if you do. See, there's this castle in Scotland, only most people don't really see it as a castle, more like a really uninviting ruin, but that's the thing, the-"

"To answer your question," the voice of the woman from before rather pointedly cut him off. "Yes, he does have clearance."

"Oho. I got through already?" Regulus remarked. "Whatever happened to third time's a charm?"

"I believe you are the one who said something about not following sayings in case one of them turned out wrong?" Regulus narrowed his eyes. "Let us dispense of the quips and byplay, shall we Mister Black?" Well, she was as blunt as ever.

"What about pleasantries?"

"Exchanging them would be hypocritical of us, would it not?" Well she did have a point. "After all, we hardly like each other."

"Actually, _you_ don't like my way of doing things because you don't like not feeling in control, a feeling not made any better by the Catch -22 you have been in with regards to the Wizarding War." The distinction was very important. "I'll decide if I like you after I figure out if that last comment about Ted's wife and daughter was an implied threat or not."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "I see we are not the only eavesdroppers."

"Then again," Regulus continued breezily. "Seeing as how you're MI6 and deal with external affairs, that means you consider Wizarding Britain a foreign nation in at least some respects. Deliberately bringing harm to Theodore Tonks and his family, which essentially qualify as citizens of a different nation with special living and employment privileges, would constitute, what did you call it? Ah yes, a diplomatic incident."

"Indeed," the woman was completely unfazed. "The Statute of Secrecy of 1689 and the treaty signed by the Crown with the British Wizengamot does have a very convoluted wording. But we are not here to talk politics are we?"

"Yes, I believe I am still waiting for an answer to the question of whether or not that parting commend to Ted was a threat or not."

"However nebulous the wording of the Statute and Treaty is, all citizens of Great Britain are considered Her Majesty's subjects and are treated as such. The Crown is not in the habit of making threats."

"And that is not an answer to my question, is it? The Crown may not be in the habit of making threats, but it doesn't mean it never makes them."

"Goodness, young man. Just what do you think we are? Monsters under the bed? We exist solely to ensure the security of all Britain's citizens."

Regulus was singularily unimpressed with that outburst. "You could have just said "no", you know?"

"How your relatives stand you is beyond me."

Regulus grinned. "Well, I admit that I was looking for an outburst. I cannot detect whether or not it was staged, so I will go on the assumption that it was not, because the past day must have been stressful with all the covering up you had to have done for all the strangely-dressed people on the streets." He shifted. "And for the rather dramatic chase I got involved in. Oh, at this point I suppose I should mention that a pipe subway has been blown to bits? It's somewhere in London but I don't remember where. It was all really rushed you see."

There was silence on the other end.

"On the other hand, if the outburst _was_ staged, I'll assume you produced it because you felt you could gauge my character based on the way I responded to it. So, was that immature enough for your ladyship?"

"I can see why Mister Tonks' description of you is what it is."

"Like he told you about what I said about sayings, right?" No answer. "I can understand if you might not remember how you came by that particular line of mine. But I'll say it upfront just do there is no wrong impression about my character: if you have surveillance devices in Marius Black's home, they'd better not be indicative of any... less than honorable intentions on Her Majesty's part."

"I fear I do not know where you are going with this. This hostility is hardly reasonable, is it?"

"You are right of course," and she was. "I was just preparing the stage for the real purpose of this talk, which you helped delay as much as myself, despite saying we should dispense of byplay."

"Yes, I believe you have some rather presumptuous expectations of what we ought to do with Her Majesty Governments' time and resources."

"Not really. I am merely very... upset at the moment, and just not putting any effort into being nice, patient and diplomatic, since I haven't any energy left for that. So allow me to be direct."

"I suppose interrupting the call in your face would be rude, though less so than your unwarranted insinuations."

"Exactly! Now you have a perceived moral high ground as an extra reason to listen to little old me." A small part of Regulus' mind actually agreed with her that he was being an ass, but he figured the past couple of days were extenuating circumstances. "I have information that can help you track one of the highest ranking terrorists in the army of the madman that just snuffed it. Now, I am as glad that the bastard is dead as anyone, but he did it because he apparently murdered my brother's best friend and blood brother, along with his wife, before being destroyed by a rebounded spell when he tried to kill their baby boy."

"..."

"Thank you for not interrupting at that befuddling statement, even though I suspect you are partially doing it in the hopes of tracing my location. Although the news did spread awfully fast. Whatever. Normally I would be comforting my brother, but it turns out that another close friend of his was the one who betrayed the location of his other one to Voldemort. My brother went after him, and the bastard framed him in the middle of a crowded street and faked his murder. You already know that scene, since it's was one of your scouts that witnessed it. I assume Ted's news of Voldemort's fall made you mobilize every watcher, which was why you happened to have one in the area?"

"You mean the occurrence in Tottenham Court Road then?" Obviously, she did not comment on how her department worked. Smart woman. "I assume the fat man survived then? He is your mark."

"Yes to the first, no to the second." He heaved a sigh. "He's already dead."

"..."

"When you find the collapsed pipe subway, you'll find him too." A beat. "Well, the countless pieces of him. Unfortunately, the one who killed him and, thus, deprived me of the culprit I needed to get my brother out of his predicament, got away from me. He distracted me by trying to burn down a school, and when I found his safe house, he was gone. But Augustus Rookwood, that's the man's name, saw my 'talk' with the fat man, as you described him, so he's the next best thing."

"Now I'm going to do as you suggested and skip further byplay or pleasantries: I will work on that information with and without your help. What your assistance will do is make sure I have no cause to walk into banks, police headquarters and the Interpol building in Lyon, or any other number of public institutions, and start mind controlling officials into giving me the information I need. And make no mistake, I will do it if I need to."

"Making real threats now, Mister Black." Her voice had gained a certain edge it didn't have before.

"No." And it was true. He wasn't. "I don't know what you are like really, not from this short conversation, but I can tell you won't respond to threats. I also hope you're not like the leaders of the Wizarding World. Weak fools or bigots that will want a scapegoat. My brother is ripe for the picking. If they convict him, which is possible, he will end up in a prison that, and I do not use hyperbole _at all_ when saying this..." He waited, to make his words sink in. "A prison that makes Auschwitz seem like a summer vacation spot in comparison. I am willing to do anything and _everything _in my power to prevent that from happening. So what I am doing, I suppose, is asking for the help that will allow me to not become a monster. It would be good enough compensation for all Her Majesty's subjects I saved through my actions these past few years, wouldn't it?"

The woman on the other end of the line was silent for a long time. "There is only one flaw in your arguments." Regulus waited. "By your own words, your actions made up for the new identity we provided for you."

The wizard almost snapped at her, but he chose a more Slytherin response. "Well, I suppose if you believe the hundreds or thousands of lives I saved, albeit admittedly from my own people's actions, are worth as much as you making sure one Arcturus Black had the rather pitiable life he had, I guess I'll be on my own after all." Since the rule of any first conversation was to always leave an impression, Regulus closed the phone in her face and disapparated.

After he rematerialized and disillusioned himself on the ceiling of Ted's study, now empty, it didn't take that long for the phone to ring and bring the man of the house rushing in. It had to be a private line that only the phone in that room was hooked to. Regulus hadn't heard the one in the hallway ring. "Hello?"

"It seems our offer of employment will have to wait for now," the woman's crisp voice came.

Ted, of course, was completely clueless. "Er... What did I miss? All I know is that, apparently, he never made it home?"

"Beyond saying he is astonishingly rude, I shall refrain from commenting on his attitude and actions because it appears we are not the only ones for whom plausible deniability is just that: plausible." Which meant that, since she was a right bitch and didn't fear insulting people, she was worried she'd actually slip and compliment him. "You can tell him that we will have an answer for him... whenever his doctor feels he will be well enough to resume his activities."

Ted nodded. "I'll see if can wrangle a checkup out of him."

"That will be it then."

"Really? No suggestions that he should go see a psychiatrist because he is paranoid and tends to think the worst of people in authority?"

"If he needs to see a psychiatrist, it will probably be for whatever issues his erstwhile mother left him with. " Regulus' eyebrows went up. "Still, you might want to tell him it is not a good idea to promise to mind control the leaders of the Interpol when talking to the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service. While it would pain me to do so, it would mean a full on search for him, and his official 'parents' would have to be... interviewed in the hopes of picking up his trail, however difficult that teleporting ability of his would make it."

Well, as far as lectures about his actions affecting others went, that was a rather backhanded one, but she had a point.

Ted seemed to agree, by how he rubbed his face. "I'll tell him."

"Good night, Mister Tonks." A beat. "And just to make sure there are no misunderstandings this time: when we say give our regards to your wife and daughter, there is no underlying threat in it."

Ted hung his head in embarrassment. "He really is paranoid isn't he?"

"Sadly, that trait is a quality in these times." The call ended.

Releasing a long breath, Ted put down the receiver. Then he took out his wand. "Homenum Revelio."

The young Black apparated next to him. "In my defense, I am exhausted, found out my brother lost his family to a murderer and got framed for it and... " He faltered. "And I failed to catch the traitor. Add to that that I haven't slept the past two nights... It's bad enough that I'm actually being pathetic enough to start making excuses. I'm a right bastard, aren't I?"

Ted tapped him on the shoulder but didn't seem to be too upset with him. "Sit down and let me see how you are."


	6. Chapter 5: Restraint? What Restraint?

**Chapter 5: Restraint? What Restraint?**

"-. .-"

Godric's Hollow wasn't a purely magical settlement. The village of Hogsmeade was the only settlement with that distinction. That meant that, while the number of witches and wizards who came to attend the funeral of James and Lily Potter was ludicrously high, there were some normal men and women there as well.

Magic, thus, had to be kept to a minimum, which meant no water-repelling charms. The downpour seemed very appropriate, but Regulus wasn't exactly certain he would have felt annoyed if he didn't have an umbrella. He definitely wasn't amused by the strange looks die-hard purebloods were sending him and the "other muggles" because of their strange toys.

He didn't really feel too heartbroken either. Mostly, he was upset over the loss Sirius had suffered, but even that was a secondary concern. The real reason he'd come to attend, under yet another polyjuice disguise, was his hope to find Remus Lupin. The only other so-called "marauder" and the person most likely to have the information he needed. Having him as an ally in his efforts to get the charges against his brother overturned would help, he was sure. Lupin could act as a visitor and source of information in the Wizarding World if nothing else. Regulus couldn't exactly go to the ministry holding cells himself.

Well, he _could_. But it was too risky.

Unfortunately, he didn't spot the man. Anywhere. The young Black scion waited and waited, doing his best to look inconspicuously conspicuous as the crown thinned. Normals retreated to their homes while magicals discretely made their way to out-of-sight areas where they could apparate or portkey from. There were just a handful of people now, and still the werewolf hadn't come. Regulus didn't know how to feel about that. Was the man on a mission somewhere? With Voldemort gone, hadn't he been recalled? There was no way the news hadn't reached him, wherever he was.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn around. He was surprised to see Ted there, his face covered in the hood of his trench coat, so that only those near could tell his face. He was looking particularly somber. Regulus wasn't surprised he knew who he was. He, Andromeda, Marius and Leona were gathered together at the latter couple's home when he took the polyjuice before leaving.

The Tonks had actually attended the funeral, but they were supposed to have left earlier. That Ted had come back meant something had come up. "You need to come home right away," he said.

Narrowing his eyes, but knowing better than to discuss things in the open, the younger wizard discretely cast a human presence revealing charm. As he expected, no one was in the cemetery anymore besides the two of them. At least not in the vicinity his spell was able to cover. It looked like someone would actually have to look for or ask about Lupin. Probably Andromeda. "Right."

A short walk later, they were in a secluded spot and apparated straight into the hallway of Marius Black's house. "Come on. Everyone's in the sitting room." Ted was trying not to look it, but he was uncomfortable.

The other wizard nullified the apparition trails and followed him with a growing sense of trepidation. In short order, the five of them were all gathered, but no one was sitting down anywhere. Andromeda was just a short distance from the door, while Marius and his own wife were quietly talking to each other on the other side of the tea table. They stopped as soon as Regulus and Ted came in, giving them worried looks but not saying anything.

"Right!" Ted said, forcing himself to sound calm and unconcerned. "I just got a call from MI6. In light of... recent developments..." he gave his wife an uneasy look. "They've decided to make the search for Rookwood a high priority. One of their top agents will be assigned to whatever lead they get as soon as possible."

No one said anything.

"Well, that's the _good_ news..." Ted said, shuffling uneasily. The pleading looks he sent Marius were not lost on anyone.

"And the bad news?" Regulus asked pointedly, dropping into sarcasm right after. "Does Her Majesty's Government require _more_ of a tithe on my part?"

"Oh Regulus!" Andromeda basically lunched herself into his arms, embracing him and bursting into tears. It shocked him enough that he almost fell along with her. His cousin was as tall as he was, a formidable, beautiful woman whose composure and elegance were never tarnished, and yet she was sobbing into his increasingly wet shoulder.

The younger man mouthed something but even he didn't know what to say. He numbly rubbed the disconsolate woman on her back.

"Regulus, it's... oh it's horrible!"

That finally got his brain to reboot. "What, what happened?" Reluctantly, he disentangled himself and held her by the shoulders, looking right at her. "Did those bastards threaten you?"

She shook her head. "No, no... Regulus, it's Sirius, he-..."

Whatever daze was still on his mind instantly dissipated. "What? What about him?"

"He..." Andromeda covered her nose with a paper napkin. Then some anger forced itself into her red-rimmed eyes. "Those morons at the Ministry have alread-... Oh, just read this!" Hastily, she moved away and picked up a Daily Prophet from the table. The paper was immediately handed over. Not knowing what to expect, the young man read the headline and blanched.

_**Long-time friend of the Potters turns out to be You-Know-Who's right hand man!**_

_**Sirius Black Sentenced to Life in Azkaban Prison for betraying the family of the Boy-Who-Lived and murdering their friend Peter Pettigrew, along with 12 muggles!**_

The headline made his legs grow weak at the knees and stagger. He didn't even register backing up against the wall and sliding down against it, until he had no room to go lower.

"-. .-"

Being in Her Majesty's Secret Service wasn't always as exciting as former MI6 agent Ian Flemming made it seem in his "fictional" novels. Sure, there was the periodic mission to thwart a supervillain, crime lord, drug lord, extremist or whatever else, but a lot of time was actually spent in training and debriefings. Simulations took the edge off the boredom, but there was nothing like a real mission to get the blood pumping. Q's toys were always great to play with, and then there were the _ladies_...

The taxi he was in turned right at an intersection. The driver, really an undercover MI6 envoy, told him they would arrive at the restaurant in five minutes. Normally the agent would be looking forward to arriving there. This was the usual set-up for the obligatory "date" that he always went on while on assignment. Unfortunately, he would not be meeting a woman this time. Knowing how much disdain M had for him and his promiscuous ways, he was tempted to think she had specifically set things up so that minimum contact with the opposite sex would occur.

It was a bit foolish really. Seduction was a mandatory part of special agent training, so M really shouldn't be complaining.

But he knew M wasn't thinking of that when she assigned him this mission, though she did say that maybe it would puncture that ego of his and deflate his big head. He didn't think much of it at the time, but then he read the file and realized that yes, the rumor going around Headquarters (Century House, 100 Westminster Bridge Road, Lambeth) about a man winning a verbal spar with M over a phone call was true. It was a good thing all agents were briefed on the so-called magical world, because he might not have prepared himself in a timely manner otherwise.

And haste was important. The past week had been an exercise in frustration for MI6, as well as the Interpol and the police departments of a dozen countries. A rare thing to pull off with the Cold War going on. They'd checked all the leads provided by that magician, or whatever he was, and they'd used all available resources and even instructed their counterparts abroad to work with the man and give him whatever information he wanted, because otherwise he would use his own means to get it, causing Diplomatic Incidents.

M always did have nasty reactions to hearing the words "diplomatic" and "incident" in the same sentence. The international tensions only made it all worse.

The agent skimmed through the file of the so-called wizard one last time. For someone who'd only been under the eye of the government for two years, and who was only 20 years of age, his list of accomplishments was considerable, though it had mostly been compiled from third-hand reports. He didn't read the part about him as a person and motivation, or psych profile. He'd have enough time for that on the plane, and he wanted to have a real first meeting. There was also the fake identity MI6 had made for him at the behest of their wizard healer (he'd only this week learned of what had been restoring him after every mission) but nothing about his real one. Since the restaurant they were going to would definitely be bugged and packed with cameras, all this suggested that M was particularly interested in this so-called first meeting.

Or maybe she just wanted a good show to help her unwind.

The cab pulled over. The agent put the file back in his briefcase and stepped out, smoothing his suit. M had insisted he wear a bow tie, and he insisted on not doing it, and she wasn't here to complain about it. Smiling charmingly at the hostess as he walked in (being blond and blue-eyed was ever so convenient), he allowed himself to be led to a private booth. The wizard was already there.

So this was the one that covered a whole third of the leads on his own. Sure, agents, policemen and whoever else made sure to look into them after he moved on (he cheated with whatever magic allowed him to pop from one side of the planet to another, the smug bastard), but they could only confirm his findings (or complete lack of findings).

At least it was _they_ that finally narrowed things down enough to make a pretty good guess of where this Augustus Algernon Rookwood was. It was a good thing the man was a wanted criminal in the magical society after being ratted out by one of his fellow terrorists (and, thus, was not hiding there).

The agent smoothly took his seat and looked right at the young man for a while. If he wasn't infamous for his boyish charm and reputation with women he might have felt a bit threatened by the elegant, aristocratic good looks that this Regulus Arcturus Black possessed. His black leather attire was a bit unexpected for the restaurant's setting, but somehow fit his black hair and blue-grey eyes perfectly. A smooth, just as black coat was on the soft seat next to him.

Aware that he was being analyzed in the same manner, the special agent produced a deck of cards from his chest pocket. "How about a game of poker while our waiter arrives?" His fingers deftly ran the deck through the shuffling motions. "I assume you at least know how to play?"

The young man didn't react to his deliberately skeptical tone, but gestured at him to go ahead as if just to indulge him.

With a sardonic eyebrow raised, he distributed the cards. He won the first hand. After mixing the cards again, he won the second game to a forfeit. "So, are we going to get introduced at some point?"

"I am sure you already have a large file on me, for all the good it will do." It was the first time he heard him speak. It was the voice of a highborn. It had that tint that only those with a claim to nobility bothered to cultivate. "But since I seem to have been raised in a different society I suppose I shouldn't expect you to adhere to the same rules of conduct as myself." He discarded two of his cards. "Which is to say, I won't take offense to you not introducing yourself before asking for someone's name, in this case Arcturus Black."

"Arcturus," the agent smirked. He knew that was the fake name they settled on, but he also knew it was his real middle name. "I wonder who gave your parents help with that. Was it a wicked sibling? Some other relative?" There was no reaction on his face, but the game did end with "Arcturus" showing a royal flush. The agent blinked. He was sure he'd just discarded that queen of spades, but the other man had kept his hands on the table the whole time so he can't have switched the cards.

"Now since we're using aliases, I'll call you..." The wizard began to mix the cads and then absently squeezed the deck, sending the cards flying over his head and settling in his other hand perfectly on top of one another. "Agent..."

"The name is Bond. James Bond."

"You don't say..."

A cute waitress came with some good wine and to take their orders, so James made sure to flirt with her to the best of his ability. Arcturus shook his head minutely as he cut the cards again.

"Are my actions offending your sensibilities, mister Black?" He asked with deliberately fake consternation.

"Oh, it's not that," the dark-haired man swirled the wine in his glass. "I just thought I'd see something new for a change, but alas we don't always get what we want." Winning another hand, he started shuffling the cards again. This time he started tossing them through the air, one by one, and they all flew perfectly to form a sort of fan in his left hand.

After an unlikely tie, the waitress brought their food and they ate mostly in silence. Bond noted that the one across the table from him had ordered a very small quantity of nourishment. He supposed he might be nervous or just didn't have an appetite for some other reason. Or maybe he was disgruntled at being forced to work with a lowly mortal. Well, tough break for him. A collaboration on this case was the condition MI6 had imposed. Black could definitely go on with his search alone, but it would have taken more than the single week since the day when Rookwood's file became a high priority.

Once the waitress took their plates away, and Bond flirted with her yet again, Black spoke. "Perhaps we should get down to business? I have more important things on my mind than outdated wooing tactics."

"We've narrowed down the search." He may as well give up some token information. "We tracked banking activities and we found one that turned out to belong to one of the three files you provided, one without the ID. We managed to get a photograph of him that way." He slid over a small photo, like the sort used on passports. It was of a middle-aged man with greying hair and black eyes.

"And I assume you tried to apprehend him yourselves but you couldn't find him? Let me guess, your agents and other people have been remembering something important they had to do when they got to wherever you think he's holed up? Or did they just walk past without noticing?"

Bond leaned back in his seat. "After a bunch of people all said similar things, it was clear enough what was happening."

"I'm sure."

The agent raised an eyebrow. "Why do I detect an undercurrent of sarcasm in your voice?"

"Because you are very good at reading people," Black drawled. "So good that you obviously believe you have me all figured out after this one dinner, so let us hear it. What are you surmising right now, mister Bond?"

"About you, mister Black?" He took a moment to look for anything resembling anticipation, but found none. "By your demeanor, I'd say you come from an old and wealthy family. Normally your quip about my flirting being nothing new would make me think you are well versed in charming the opposite sex, but the complete lack of advances on your part despite the beauty of our waitress makes me think you speak more like a... witness... than anything else."

Black blinked. "Something that is true about a great many people and can be explained in many ways like, say, going out to eat often and witnessing similar things."

"True. But you got annoyed enough to somehow magic your hand to win the poker game right after I made that quip about a wicked sibling. Now you _could _say you were offended on his behalf for my so-called insult, but I think it's more likely you were raised in his shadow, and witnessing his exploits with women is just one reason you grew up feeling inadequate, like you could never live up to whatever expectations everyone else, your parents most likely included, had of you.

"Your sarcastic way of speaking, if I were to guess, is only a recent development, a way to make up for all the years of, what did you call it? Adhering to rules of conduct? I suppose it is a good enough way to convince yourself you've freed yourself from your past, but that doesn't hold up in the face of everything else you do. You always stay hidden unless you have no recourse, conceal your appearance whenever you go out on one of your so-called interventions, and soundlessly move around as if fearing discovery. I presume you rationalize it by contemplating the benefits of stealth and misdirection, but what if it's really just the continued manifestation of a deep desire to prevent the world from figuring out who you are, because you yourself don't know who you are... and want to figure it out first?"

Black looked at him for a long time before leaning back and starting to lightly rap his fingers on the table. "Alright. By the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever. Naturally you think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with _such_ disdain, and going by how you started your analysis by speaking of wealth, my guess is that you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means that you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity... hence that chip on your shoulder. And since you were so eager to delve into how horrible it is to have older siblings and parents with high hopes for you, I'm thinking you're an orphan... and part of what you just told me is along the same lines of what you used to tell yourself before going to sleep at night as a child, to make the loneliness seem just a little bit less unbearable. Maybe your parents or possible brothers were or would have been horrible, abusive ones. Maybe it was better that you were all alone."

The agent smiled but said nothing, though inside he was swearing. The ones in the security van outside, listening and recording the conversation, were going to be infuriating now that they had this information.

"Oh you are! Then again, it does make sense. MI6 looks for maladjusted young men, who give little thought to sacrificing others in order to protect queen and country. You know... former SAS types with easy smiles and expensive watches." Black glanced down at his wrist. "Omega?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you didn't say Rolex."

"A beautiful piece," "Arcturus" shifted in his seat. "Now, having just met you, I can't really go as far as calling you a cold-hearted bastard..."

"No, of course not."

"But it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine. At least not at first glance. By all appearances, you think of women as disposable pleasures, rather than meaningful pursuits. But knowing what I know and the way that woman spoke to me on the phone, I'm guessing your promiscuity is actually a way for you to prove to yourself that you _can_ and _deserve_ the approval of the opposite sex. Ironic really, since the woman whose approval you really crave for will never give it to you precisely because of this way of life you've resorted to. I'd call it an Oedipus complex if I actually believed you had that sort of affection for her, but I think we both know better."

The agent's blase expression almost faltered as that nerve was struck. He'd never consciously looked at things from that perspective. Banishing those thoughts, he wondered if M realized just how much of her character she revealed during that conversation. He really had to hack the mainframe and listen to the recording sometime.

On second thought, M was probably listening to this conversation herself. Damn.

"Oh," Black's eyebrows raised. "So that woman that talked to me really _is_ M. I wasn't completely certain. Does she act the aloof matriarch to orphan agents? Now obviously I can't assume anything about her just like I can't say you're a cold-hearted bastard, but I'm pretty sure I'd act like that if I were a cast-iron heartless bitch. It would be easy enough: always being just out of reach, compelling you 'children' to do your best in the hopes that maybe, _maybe _this time I'll say 'Good work' instead of implying you were barely passable by 'grudgingly' giving you another assignment." The wizard elegantly set his glass on the table and gazed at him as though wondering whether to go that last mile. "Is she enjoying the Cold War?"

The agent couldn't help raising his eyebrows. "I'm afraid you'll have to ask her yourself."

"What, you mean she isn't listening in? I know there is at least one hidden microphone here, and the security cameras aren't exactly subtle, though I commend you for not wearing anything of the sort yourself."

"Oh, you've noticed?" The double-0 was starting to realize why M might have thought this assignment would teach him a thing or two. He didn't think she'd actually end up as a topic of discussion though, especially not such an uncomfortable one. Fortunately, Black didn't press. Now Bond just had to think of a way to appease M for not jumping in her defense. Maybe he could say Black was probably just on edge and was speaking hypothetically anyway, and she'd pretend to buy it just so she could keep up her aloof mother persona.

In any case, the agent was thinking it might have been a mistake to postpone reading Black's personal profile. All he knew was that he had a personal score to settle with Rookwood for some reason, and all this time delaying him from that goal was probably fueling his antagonism.

Eventually, they both finished their last drinks. "How was your lamb?" Black asked.

"Skewered," he grinned, though it did not reach his eyes. "One sympathizes. And your venison?"

"Hacked." The man leaned forward after the waitress brought the check. The agent tensed as Black gestured with something and a sort of bubble shimmered around them before fading. "Now, maybe we should do what we really came here for."

"-. .-"

James Bond was long past the point where he wanted to start swearing. He'd been cussing enough to make sailors blush for the past ten minutes. He'd ended up in the marketplace, thankfully deserted, since it was late at night. "Where are they now?"

Mobile phones weren't expected to debut on the widespread market for another two years, but the MI6, naturally, already used them, even though they were half the size of his head and basically screamed "suspicious." It was a good thing this was an internationally sanctioned operation. "Two blocks ahead of you." Oh, the wonders of spy satellites. "No, three blocks. No, turn around! They're behind you!" Almost tripping over a dog, the harried special agent turned around in time to see their mark running down the street and throwing those spell lights over his shoulder.

Black flashed into being on the wall of the tallest house on that lane and sent a red blast after him, then teleported to the top of a street light, accurately predicting his first strike would miss. "Fulmen!" A bolt of electricity was barely avoided by their target, but cobblestones were blasted apart.

"Fyrag-OH! " Rookwood's spell was disrupted when he was shot in the forearm.

But he shrugged it off as though it had only been a dummy bullet. The agent swore. He didn't believe it when he was told that wizards had a whole tailoring industry based around dragonhide, but that bastard's robe couldn't be made from anything else. That material was better than kevlar! If he didn't have orders to take him alive, and thus had no armor-piercing bullets with him (not that he was totally certain they'd get through), he'd have shot him in the head by now. Maybe he should just do it- no, nevermind, they were gone again. "Buggering shite. Where to now, Q?"

"Continue where you left off." He took off down the street, leaving behind a bunch of gobsmacked dogs. "Take a right." He was running down a tight passageway between ramshackle but nonetheless tall homesteads that were probably built between the two world wars. "Go forward until you reach the next road."

He skidded to a halt on the sidewalk of an ordinary-looking street. Or, well, another one. All of them looked the same. "To your right." The agent turned in the indicated direction. "See the big metal garage door? Now see the so-called power box next to it? Press that foldable mirror I gave you against it."

He did so."Oh, so you weren't just insinuating things when you gave me this make-up kit." The door lifted open, revealing a beautiful, convertible Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. "I love you Q."

"You sure about what you just said about the mirror?"

Bond did the mature thing and shut the call in his face, as if satellite-based conversations were a commodity instead of a job privilege. Quickly getting in the car, he almost slapped himself when he realized he didn't ask were the keys were... which was when the bottom cover of his foldable mirror, still in his left hand, fell and the keys followed. "Charming."

"Just get out of there before the mob mobilizes. I'm pretty sure they have magicals in their ranks, and with the Second Mafia War going on you don't want the Corleonesi on your tail. Getting the car there without them knowing was hard enough."

With his suspicions confirmed that the car would have a satellite phone link already established, Bond was quick to comply. The car purred under his ministrations, even as it swerved dangerously around narrow corners. A small radar showed the location of his 'partner' as a green blinking dot. They were actually surprised the locator worked for so long. It would probably fail soon, with all that magic being done, but at least they had this advantage for now.

He wasn't driving the car _quite_ as insanely as he did on "normal" missions, when he was chasing or being chased by another vehicle, but it was close. The difference allowed a part of his mind to rethink what had led to this mess.

In hindsight, he supposed he should have expected something to happen. Something usually went wrong on all his assignments. M routinely blamed it on him getting "distracted" by women. Hah! Now he could earnestly say women have nothing to do with it. Things go wrong just because.

The evening of the dinner, Black raised what he called a "privacy bubble," which MI6 learned, the hard way, that it cut off not just the ones inside from everyone else outside, but electronic communications too, both wired and wireless. The security cameras only saw them having a normal discussion. His wand was never spotted even there. It was under an illusion. That much the wizard had shared with them, assuring them that most wizards didn't have his caution because they had no idea of cameras like that and most didn't even know what "ekeltricity" was.

He'd put his foot down and didn't take no for an answer when he said he would portkey them both to wherever the mission was going to take place. He didn't have the patience to wait and sit on a plane for hours. So a portkey was how they landed in Sicily just minutes after leaving the restaurant. Their lead took them to the 4-star hotel Castello di San Marco, near the shore of the Mediterranean. Black said it was a good place for Rookwood because the castle looked old fashioned enough but had no magical side, so he could hide in relative peace. That it was luxurious was a bonus.

After one day of surveillance, during which he finally read Black's file and saw just how he was so involved in this (and thought that maybe he shouldn't have made that quip about his brother), Bond went ahead to check on the room, but passed it by four times out of four while walking down and up the corridor. Black had to teleport in and point the door out to him. Blasted notice-me-not wards. They would have gone in, but there were some nasty alarm and retaliation spells on the door, Black said. He couldn't see inside, even from the window, and he _would_ have blind apparated there anyway if he didn't have high fears that every inch of the floor was warded, maybe even the walls and ceiling. And without knowing where he was going, he couldn't appear on the ceiling or wall anyway.

They also needed to catch him in a secluded spot, because Rookwood had already shown he was more than willing to kill bystanders to suit his needs. So they kept an eye on the area, and they eventually spotted him, under his new appearance. Glamour spells, Black had called them. It turned out that the man was wearing his best equipment, even a coat-like dragonhide cloak. Paranoid, just like Black was.

They did, on the fourth day of staking the place out, follow him, undetected, when he apparated to the settlement of Calatabiano, to an empty street, late at night. Black even managed to draw an anti-teleportation ward, or whatever he called it, but their mark felt it going down and surprised them by attacking them both rather viciously. Apparently, while confronting the Black Phantom wasn't preferable to running away, especially when injured, fighting "poor, weak little Regulus" _was_. Rookwood seemed to have taken it as an insult that he'd had to flee the first time.

Bond had almost been caught by some orange lights a few times, and by the way they liquefied the brick wall behind him, he was glad he hadn't gotten hit. After shooting the bastard in the back and legs a few times, probably only causing big bruises due to the blasted dragonhide, Rookwood seemed to realize he wasn't a "useless muggle" and tried to kill him. So, naturally, Regulus proceeded to overpower him because of the distraction. Unfortunately, he managed to reach the edge of the ward and teleport away, just as people were starting to turn on the lights in their houses.

That had been 25 minutes ago. They'd been "chasing" each other all over the place since then. Bond knew Black was waiting until they both ended up somewhere with no bystanders, at which point he'd activate that special cube he had on him. He'd have done it from the start, but it only had a few minutes' worth of energy left. Black had admitted that he hadn't examined it fully and didn't know how to restore its energy, if it was even possible, so he needed Rookwood tired first.

"Drive forward from there," Q's voice came from near the rear-view mirror. "They've stopped teleporting. They're on the roof of the two story house at the end of this block."

He was out of the car almost before it came to a stop. The top was lowered, so he just jumped out. A running leap let him push himself high enough to grab onto the balcony on the first floor and hoist himself up. Once he was there, it was even easier to reach the eaves. Hanging from the ledge, he pulled himself high enough peer over it. The two were locked in some sort of spell dominance deadlock. They were rather dramatically leaning back on one leg, the other one stretched forward. They were _pushing_ jagged streams of white and dark orange light at each other, wands held above their heads. Their cloaks fluttered at every aftershock and the sound was like a brewing storm.

Black's illusory shroud and hood concealed his face, but he was probably frustrated. This was obviously a ploy for time.

So the agent pulled a coin-size, miniature concussive grenade (another special toy that Q somehow knew he would need), and tossed it at the feet of the bad guy.

Bond almost fell off the roof when the blast went off, but he pulled himself up in time to see Rookwood crawling on one side, and Black pushing himself back to stand. His hood had been blown back. Either he'd been caught in the blast or lost his balance when he suddenly won the duel.

Rookwood's wand flew from the rooftop to "Arcturus's" waiting hand, but the Unspeakable showed just how devious and determined to deny them their goal he was. He quickly pulled out a spare wand and turned it on _himself_, twisting it one and snarling vindictively. "Obliviate."

"Expelliarmus!" The memory charm was interrupted as the wand was wrenched from the older wizard, but it only left Rookwood dazed and sputtering. "What did you do?" Black descended on him and shook him by the front of his robes. "What did you erase you bastard?" No answer was given. "What do you know about Peter Pettigrew? Tell me you trash!" But there was only a confused expression.

With a hiss of rage, Bond's so-called temporary "partner" pushed the older wizard back down "Stupefy!" and spun on his heel, tracing patterns through the air. Blue symbols became visible for one second before fading from sight, leaving room for more. A minute later, at which point the older and unconscious wizard was being held at gunpoint, Black was done, but he made a sweeping motion with his wand, blanketing the whole rooftop into some other sort of ward. Then he swept it like a brush again "Protego Totalum." Then he turned on Rookwood so fast he may as well have flown. "Ennervate!" In a moment he was on one knee, one hand holding the older man by the jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. His other hand raised his wand, pointing right in Rookwood's face. "Legilimens!"

Tight tremors and gasps rocked the enemy wizard, as thought he was in some sort of agony but could do nothing but stare ahead and wait for more of it to come upon him. One minute passed and none of them blinked. By the second minute, Rookwood was clearly in mental pain, but Black was stone-faced. The silence of it all belied the distress being inflicted. The special agent felt shivers go down his spine, realizing he was witnessing someone's mind being torn through. Suddenly this mission had lost all appeal.

But it was apparently nothing compared to what Black must have been feeling. With a snarl, he broke the spell and hurled Rookwood to the ground again. He was shaking with rage. "Confundo!" Rookwood's pained expression slackened. "Legilimens!" And promptly tightened again.

Agent Bond was starting to think that maybe he should intervene.

"Son of a bitch!" The spell was torn apart again, and Rookwood reeled from the shock. "Incarcerous!" Tight ropes sprung from Black's wand and bound the Unspeakable. "I'll get what I want whether you like it or not, old man." James couldn't fully suppress a gape when Black pulled out a vial of very clear liquid. He'd been _briefed_ on that too. "Open your mouth, Rookwood." Regulus pinched the older wizard's nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth to inhale. When he did, three drops of the truth serum fell down his throat. In seconds, his expression turned into a dull, blank one.

"What is your full name?"

"August Algernon Rookwood."

"What is your profession?"

"I'm an Unspeakable with the British Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes?"

"What do you know about Peter Pettigrew?"

"Nothing."

Black's hands twitched as though he wanted to strangle someone. "Did you ever hear the name Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

Black jumped to his feet with an inarticulate snarl of rage. He started pacing and the air seemed to shiver around him. "Do you remember obliviating yourself at any point during the past hour?"

"No."

"Sodding worthless... Bah!" Black was clearly shaking now, as if fighting an internal war. He lost. "Tacitus Claustrum!" His wand arm made an enveloping motion, and a circle of yellow light flashed around the three of them, covering nearly the whole rooftop, before disappearing. "Crucio!"

James jumped.

Bond thought he'd seen hate, but this was something else. Rookwood wasn't supposed to be able to show any emotion while Veritaserum was in effect, but the Cruciatus cleaved right through that idea. Even with the tight bonds, the man started writhing on the ground, screaming hoarsely as knives that didn't exist stabbed through every inch of his body.

After fifteen seconds, Regulus let his hand fall. The old man only had one moment to catch his breath. "Crucio!" Twenty seconds. "Congratulations! You made me cast my first unforgivable! Well done! Crucio!"

"NNnngghuooooaaaaaaah!"

"Scream all you want, scum!" He didn't interrupt the curse anymore, even while speaking. "You thought you were clever, denying me the information! Well you're useless now and guess what! Azkaban is too good for you!"

There was a limit to everything though. Bond steeled himself, closed the distance and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling it away and forcefully breaking his hold on the spell. "That's _enough_!"

"Let go of me."

"No."

Black wrenched his arm away and blasted him away. It was an unfocused spell, and only knocked Bond on his back, but the wizard was still too single-minded to pay it any thought. "Traumata!"

Bond didn't even look at the purple spell. He didn't watch and see the illusion of nightmares and terror engulf the captive wizard. He just knew that Black had _dared_ attack him and he was going to learn what a mistake it was to assault an agent of her Majesty's Government. "You asked for this, kid." With a leap, he was on his so-called partner. His left hand closed around his wrist, holding it in place just enough for a knee strike to numb his forearm. A second hit sent the wand clattering to the floor, and before Black was able to regain his bearings, Bond sucker punched him straight in the jaw.

It was enough to send the lad flying a meter and a half through the air, and he fell on his side with a pained grunt.

Knowing that wizards didn't focus on physical self-defense skills, Bond quickly followed, grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak and pulled, driving another fist forward, straight at his nose.

Or at least that was the plan.

Black moved his head out of the way, narrowly dodging, and did much the same as Bond did earlier: grabbed him by the wrist and _pulled_. One knee to the ribs knocked his breath away. Then Regulus stepped back once, raised his foot, and delivered a perfect side kick right into his face. "Stay out of this!"

"Like hell!" Bond could feel his nose bleeding.

"_Exactly_ hell!" Black teleported right in front of him and socked him right in the chest. "This trash's testimony was all that could help me get my brother out of that hellhole, and he ruined it just to spite me!" A second punch was blocked, but he did the same to the counter. "Well good for him, he pissed me off!"

James head butted him in the nose, then kicked him in the gut and sent him staggering. He had to grudgingly respect the fact that he didn't fall off his feet. So Black could fight reasonably well too. Still, _reasonably_ wasn't spectacular. _He_ was spectacular. "Oh, bo-hoo!" A front spinning kick disoriented the wizard, then a back spinning kick hurled him through the air again. Black spun twice before collapsing in a heap. Bond allowed himself a moment of smugness when the groans came.

But then he realized his mistake: he'd hurled Black right in the direction of where his wand had rolled, near the edge of the roof. Internally cursing, he launched himself forward. One running leap, two, three. Now he was close enough. Black was pushing himself up. All he had to do was tackle him and-

Black vanished.

Bond almost threw himself forward anyway, but stumbled to a halt just in time. A scream was behind him. "Haaaaah!" He only had enough time to turn half the way. The air exploded five times in quick succession, each time closer than the last, and Black flickered just as many times, and the last deposited him inches away, fist coked back. "You were right!" And he smashed it right in the agent's cheek. "I _was_ raised in his shadow! And he's ten times the man I am." He spun on his heel, jumping, doing a sweeping kick, but disappeared just as Bond was about to block and reappeared in the air on his right, and hit true.

James fell to the ground, evening the score. "There's no way he'd snap so easily and start casting unforgivables like I just did! And yet those morons hauled him without a trial to a prison manned by demons! Demons that eat your good memories, drain you of your positive emotions, leaving you only with torment. Inmates go insane, each day just a little more, and this bastard erased part of his own memory just to stop me from getting him out! Well if he doesn't care about his mind, then I'll torture him insane! Then I'll torture him some more!"

Bond brought both palms under his chest and kicked out with both legs.

Black was struck in the face. "Umph!" His nose was dripping blood, giving his words a slurry quality. "You asshole."

Now on his feet, the agent did as he wanted to do before. He threw himself forward, landing on top of him as both hit the ground.

Black struggled and growled.

A crack of displaced air left an unconscious and twitching Rookwood alone on the warded rooftop.

When the strange squeezing sensation stopped, the first thing Bond was aware of was the wind howling in his hears. Then there was yet another punch in the face, and the sensation of fall.

And another hit, but it was weak. The fourth hit he managed to catch, and he finally realized he was still clutching at Black's robe, and they were both wrestling for dominance while plummeting through the air. The ocean was far below them both, probably a thousand feet. A thousand feet that were rapidly shortening.

"Are you crazy?" He shouted, socking the wizard in the temple.

Black shook his head to clear it. "Are _you_ crazy? You trying to knock out your only shot of living through this?"

"I've lived through worse!" Well, _maybe_. There was that one time when he jumped off a plane without a parachute. But Miss Ima Goodlady reached him and they used hers. Why oh _why_ didn't Q provide him with a miniature jet pack or rocket boots or something?

They traded glancing blows for a short while, but despite Black's attempts to get him off, Bond held fast, causing the wizard to mutter. "Why you... you..." They disapparated again.

Then they were just one foot above the sea surface.

The two smashed through the water with an impressive splash. Whatever haze had been descending on them because of the pain and blood loss was immediately dispelled by the shock of the cold water and the abrupt disappearance of air. Black's struggles to free himself of him grew more intense, so Bond forced himself to ignore the impulse to breathe in. He let go of the robe with one hand, and grabbed onto the wizard's hair instead.

Let him try to force his hold off _that_.

He didn't know how deep they'd gotten. The lack of light made it impossible to distinguish where the surface was. He could tell they were rapidly getting deeper though. The water pressure on his lungs was steadily growing, and he could see the air escaping Black's mouth, just like it was coming out of his own.

Finally, Black reached his limit and did the only thing he could, teleporting them both away, along with all the water in a two-foot radius. The two men ended up splayed on top of each other, with Black on top. Bond weakly shoved him off, rolling a couple of times away himself for good measure. He took some gasping breaths of the sweet night air and coughed out sea water.

He was vaguely aware of Black doing the same a couple of meters away.

When he was well enough to inspect his surroundings, Bond noticed they were back on that good old rooftop. Rookwood was still out of it, a little on his right. The only difference was the pool of water that was now thinning, draining through the pipes on the edges of the homestead.

After a few minutes of rest, during which the nosebleed had time to reassert itself, James painstakingly sat up. Black had pushed himself into a similar position and was breathing heavily, staring blankly at their captured quarry. "Are you done?" Bond asked.

For a moment, he was worried his deadpan would just get him started again, but Black snorted. "Yeah." With a small gesture, he called his wand to his hand. When he finally had it, he swiped it over his face. "Episkey." The bruises faded and his broken nose mended perfectly. A small flick cleaned the blood, then another dried him up.

Bond stood when Black did. The wizard casually strolled over and healed his own broken nose, but conveniently "forgot" to clean his face or dry his clothes. Bastard.

"Enervate." Rookwood gasped awake. "I see the Veritaserum is still holding. What is your name."

"A-a-august-tus Algernon R-Rookwood." He was suffering cruciatus after-effects. he was shivering and stuttering.

"What did you do for Voldemort?"

"I s-spied on the DOM. I was also t-tasked with locating and bringing the d-dark lord a p-p-prophecy."

That stopped them both short. "Prophecies?" Bond asked. "You mean those things exist?"

"Yes."

"According to some..." Regulus rubbed his chin, anger set aside in favor of this newest piece of information. "What prophecy is that?"

"I don't know."

"What does it say? What is it about?"

"I don't know."

"Who made it?"

"I don't know."

"How did Voldemort learn of it?"

"I don't know."

Black scoffed. "What's your best guess, genius?"

"I think Severus Snape told him of it."

"Why?"

"The dark lord gave me the prophecy search task soon after Snape requested a private audience with the Dark Lord."

"When was this?"

Rookwood seemed to think. The serum must have been wearing off. "Last summer."

"_When_ last summer."

"I don't remember."

"So," Black said. "He probably obliviated that part too. He was probably going to erase everything about the prophecy but I stopped him in time. Too bad he didn't just block the memories. I might have been able to recover something..." His shoulders slumped and the wizard was looking tired all of a sudden. "Dammit. This is all... everything is just going _wrong_..."

Bond really felt like an ass now for making that quip about Black being brought up in his brother's shadow. That'll teach him to procrastinate when it comes to reading mission files. "Look, for what it's worth I'm sorry."

"It's not worth much," Black said absently. "But thanks I suppose." The Veritaserum finally wore off and Rookwood did the only thing he could. He glared and got ready to open his mouth.

"Stupefy." Whatever he was going to say, Black wasn't interested. "Well, I suppose that's it then. Let's just take him back to his hotel and raid his room."

The next day, they interrogated him again, properly, then Black obliviated him of his memory of the past two weeks and portkeyed him to the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic. Then he took himself and Bond back to Britain and vanished as soon as they were back on their own soil. No by your leave, no nothing.

"-. .-"

One would say it would be appropriate to return from such a harrowing outing at some point during the night, but by the time Regulus made it home, it was just before noon. Not that he registered it. Hs mind barely worked at that point, so numb he felt. It was all he could do to cling to his composure. He doubted he'd even manage that much if he didn't have that one, last, small hope. The only recourse he could think of at that stage.

His gaze was vacant. Not that he would have noticed anything if it wasn't. He was looking down as he walked, so he didn't notice that Leona was in the kitchen when he passed by. He only returned to himself when she already had her arms around him.

Merlin, but his state of mind was deplorable.

Was she _shaking_?

But he didn't hug her back. He felt unusually... passive about everything.

At some point, Marius appeared in the doorway across the hall.

Regulus didn't even bother trying to ease the conversation in. "I'm leaving."

Leona abruptly stilled, but it was Marius who spoke."What did you say?"

"I'm turning myself in."

"What? What for?"

"Illegal portkeys? Breaking and entering? Casting the Cruciatus curse? Take your pick."

"But... but _why?_"

"Without hard-solid evidence, it's the only way I'll get them to listen to me." It was hilarious how breezy his voice was. It was like talking about a particularly temperamental scoop of ice cream. Maybe he should just give in to hysterics and be done with it. "I'll cut a deal with the DMLE. They act on my word and get Sirius out of that hellhole and I'll let them prosecute me. Who knows, maybe it'll turn out for the best..." Right, fat chance of that happening. It was amazing that the sarcastic part of his brain was proving the most resilient, even now.

Leona had finally moved away from him. "You can't be serious! They'll never... This is crazy, Regulus. You can't honestly expect it to work. Crouch won't... you know what he's like, and after the last week's euphoria, no one will want to dig anything up."

"So I'll talk to a decent auror first." Leona didn't understand. Not really. He _had_ to do everything in his power for Sirius. He _had_ to or he wouldn't be able to live with himself. "That's right, Frank Longbottom! He's a good guy. He'll listen to me."

You could hear a pin drop. That alone wasn't so strange. Both elder Black's were being awfully quiet. It was Leona's anguished expression that awake alarms in his mind. "Regulus... Frank Longbottom... won't be any help..."

"What? Why not?"

Marius bit his lip. "You missed it because you were out of the country. Frank and Alice Longbottom were attacked by the Lestranges, including your cousin. They were tortured with the Cruciatus... Their minds shattered. They're in the long-term ward at St. Mungo's now."

Regulus felt or heard something crashing. He was dimly aware of further words being spoken, but he was completely overcome by disbelief. More things had gone wrong in the short time after Voldemort's destruction than during the last two years of his reign of terror.

His sight was spinning. Blood rushed to his head and his breath hitched. He distantly heard Leona gasp. He almost didn't feel Marius catching him, holding him tight, urging him to breathe. "Breathe, Regulus!" and rubbing soothing circles in his back. "It's going to be _fine_." But it was clear he didn't dare believe it. "It's going to be fine, son, and if it isn't, we'll _make_ it fine somehow, do you hear me? Breathe!"

He heard him, but he didn't process the words. Then his last stray thoughts left him, and there was nothing left.

"-. .-"

Waking up happened without fanfare. There was just the obligatory bout of disorientation, and then he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. After another few seconds, he remembered what had happened last. He'd had a panic attack, hyperventilated and then passed out. How very dramatic. MI6 was going to have a field day with that. He'd have to remember to cast the electricity revealing spell again. It did a great job of exposing every little thing that ran on it, down to the smallest bugs.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, he laid his eyes on the end table and debated whether to first pick up the wand or the glass of water. In an unusually careless move, he chose the latter, though he didn't drink. He stood up and looked at it for a long time.

Then his lips curled into a vicious snarl, his eyes shut in rage and he hurled it at the opposite farthest across the room from him.

He waited, head bowed, for the loud crash, but it didn't come, so he looked up. The glass was suspended, motionless, water half-spilled and just as inert, a couple of feet away from the potted plant in the corner. Headed towards the photo of him and Sirius as 8 and 9 year-olds. It was something Kreacher had somehow found and timidly offered as a gift on Regulus' last birthday.

"If I didn't have a broader perspective on things, I would feel astonished at the ability of this planet's denizens to wallow in guilt."

A wave of... something washed over Regulus. This meeting was essential. Special. Somehow more relevant than all the others he'd had with him. A junction. He didn't know how he knew, but it was.

Raphael pushed himself from where he was leaning against the wall next to the window. "When we first met, you said you didn't deserve Sirius' forgiveness. What do you feel now?"

"... I don't know." There was no point in lying. It never really helped, not with Him.

"Which is to say you feel a lot of things at once." The man's head tilted to the side. "Your brother brought Azkaban on himself."

Regulus flinched so hard, it was like a bucket of water dumped on him from above. "Wh... what?"

"In the end, the universe conspires to achieve the best balance between what we truly _want_ and what we deserve. The only reason your brother landed in Azkaban was because he felt convinced the Potters' deaths were his fault. He kept saying 'I killed them' when the magical damage reversal squad came to the scene where Pettigrew staged his death. In a way, he feels he deserves it."

"That's not the point!" Regulus shouted hotly. "He was in shock! In hysterics! He wasn't thinking straight."

"Like you weren't when you Crucioed Rookwood?"

His mouth clamped shut.

"Technically, you would go to Azkaban also if the MOM had its way."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Well how is it different from what came of Sirius?"

"I cast the unforgivable! But He didn't do what he's being accused of! None of it!"

"Except that he put a lot of effort in convincing James Potter that it was a better idea to use Peter Pettigrew as secret keeper." Well, that was new. "Except that he was enough of a hypocrite to suspect Remus Lupin of being the spy because he was a werewolf, despite having proclaimed all his life that his condition didn't matter at all. No matter what you may think, none of us are ever truly blameless in what happens to us."

"So what? You're saying it's _right_ for him to be there despite being innocent?"

"No. What I am saying is that you are being astoundingly self-centered and hypocritical about this yourself."

Regulus sputtered, unable to understand.

"Look at you, shouting yourself hoarse about how incredibly _unfair_ it is for Sirius to be confined in there, even though you want to inflict the exact same thing on yourself. 'Oh, I'm turning myself in, let's trade!' Nevermind that you would only be exchanging one innocent prisoner of Azkaban for another. How exactly is that better? Why exactly is Sirius worth more than you? And for that matter why should your opinion on the matter be worth more than his?"

The young wizard wanted to yell, to tear apart that reasoning, but he knew he couldn't. This wasn't a random person he was arguing with. This wasn't someone to whom psychology applied, and even if he were, he'd still be right.

"You keep vowing you would do anything and everything in your power to get him out of there." Raphael never did seem to lose his train of thought. "Can you honestly say you haven't already done that? Or do you think yourself so great that there is nothing you can fail at if you try your best?"

"I..." Sweeping his fingers through his hair, he grit his teeth. "Why does it have to be _this_? Why should I fail at _this_?"

"Would you have rather failed to save the Prewetts." Regulus flinched again. "Would you have rather failed the McKinnons?" It was always the same. He was so completely brutal in his honesty, each and every time. "Would you rather that little 6 year-old girl had died if it meant you would succeed at this?" Raphael's eyes narrowed and his tone was like a cleaver. "The number of people who died and suffered in this guerilla war since you defected is half of what it would have been if you had perished in that cave. Would you trade _that_?"

Regulus sat on the bed. His legs had grown too weak to keep him up.

"Turning yourself in for whatever reason is basically you saying you don't think any of that is worth anything. Even if you did have the guarantee that Sirius would be released, which you do not, it would be a big injustice. You always claim not to be rash, but then what would this idea qualify as?"

"But what am I supposed to do?" He was desperate for an answer. Any answer.

"Wait. Scout. Keep an eye out for potential information. Keep an eye on the DMLE for someone that may be sympathetic to your cause, and willing to see justice done. Approach them, but only when they have a high and solid enough position in the DMLE for your overtures to bear fruit."

Regulus sunk his face in his hands. "But with Longbottom out and James Potter Dead, there's no one. And if Moody went along with the incarceration, despite his paranoia, means he is convinced Sirius did it. And he never trusted me. He'll probably think I was in cahoots with my brother. I even have the Dark Mark. He'll never trust me because of that. No one will." It was why he didn't think anything short of turning himself in would get enough attention and leverage. "That leaves no one."

"Looks like it."

A heavy silence fell.

"You already know what will happen," Regulus whispered brokenly.

"Sirius will be in prison for seven years."

Black's head shot up. He met those white-green eyes. Raphael was smiling. It was a warm smile, a tender thing. "You will wait until then, doing other things of your choice, resigned but also reassured by my assurance that his mind will stay whole. He knows he is innocent, but it isn't a happy thought, so he will grab it and never let go. Then the House of Black will welcome a new lord, and you will be called by him, and you will help in your brother's release. And the Magical World will then proceed to experience a series of shocks never before seen."

The wizard stared. Raphael had _never_ spoken so plainly about the future before, or in such specific, straightforward terms. For whatever reason, he usually chose to be vague. Regulus couldn't help but wonder _why_ now was different.

"I'm the one that made sure you lived to affect the world." The white one walked around the bed and stopped in front of him. "Which means I'm responsible for you. Your lapse with the cruciatus will balance itself eventually, but you did well in everything else. Do you understand what I'm saying? You are _more_ than you were. The world is a brighter place because of you. You deserve better than the sort of suffering you were planning for yourself."

Regulus didn't really know what to feel. It was a common enough conclusion to their talks, but for once he wanted their meeting to end on a less frustrating note. "This is it, isn't it?"

Raphael was amused."It?"

"The moment when you ask me if I'm okay with you retroactively interfering with my life and not taking into account any of my previous opinions on the matter of your involvement, regardless of how heavy-handed."

"Yes. So, do I have your permission."

Black ducked his head and sighed. "Sure."

"Marvelous!"Raphael beamed and tapped him on the head with something hard. Wooden.

Looking up again, Regulus accepted the photo frame. The frame with him and his sibling. The one that was supposed to be on the wall.

Then Raphael was gone and the glass of water shattered against the wallpaper above the potted plant with a resounding smash. Somehow, he didn't jerk in fright.

"Well, so you _do_ have human reactions."

Regulus looked up from his inspection of the moving photo, just as Sirius was poking his younger self in the ear. He'd expected Leona or Marius, Maybe even Ted or Andromeda, not _him_. "What do you want?" he set the photo next to him on the duvet, face-down.

"Nice to see you too," James Bond said dryly, walking into the room and taking it all in a single glance. "Nice place. Very... quaint." Regulus didn't speak. He was very good at that when he wanted to be. Sometimes it was easiest to get people to leave by just shutting up. It made it abundantly clear their presence was unwanted. Unless they were particularly dim, which Bond wasn't. Unfortunately.

Or fortunately, depending on one's view. "Here." He tossed a folder over, and it landed next to the wizard, on the bed. "Similar situation as Rookwood's. MI6 will pay you for every collaboration. If nothing else, it will be a good way to pass the time. Who knows, maybe one of these runaway magicals will have something that will help you."

It was a good sales pitch, even though MI6 obviously just wanted to bag one of those wizards for themselves, not having gotten Rookwood. Regulus had portkeyed him to the ministry, with a nice calling card (a temporary black ghost tattoo on his face, where no one would miss it).

"Right..." Bond said, off balance because of the wizard's continued silence. "And you can use this," he opened his briefcase using the chair next to the end tablet and pulled out one of those huge cellular telephones. "To contact us. The first button sets up a line automatically."

After a moment's thought, Regulus accepted it. He immediately decided there was no way he would carry that dead weight with him everywhere. Not in that state anyway. Summoning his wand, he waved it over the thing, shrinking it despite Bond's protests. Then he enlarged it and shrunk it again, then did that another couple of times before returning it to normal size and pressing the fast-dial button.

Lo and behold, it still worked!

Regulus shrunk it to the size of a dime again and closed his fist around it.

Then, standing up, he ignored Bond, who was about to say something else, and disapparated.

He appeared in the sky, a hundred feet above the back yard of a certain house, already casting a featherweight and disillusionment charm on himself. Maybe it was insane to do this, but he needed more confirmation. Most of his sense of self-worth was fake, stemming from his parents trying to overcompensate for chasing Sirius away. He _wanted_ to believe Raphael, but he sure as hell wasn't a well-adjusted person. He needed more, and what better way to confirm if you should be allowed to go on living than a blood ward?

A mother's love. A sacrifice out of love.

Regulus sunk through the border of the magical protection.

The change in sensation was immediate. He could feel himself being examined, _judged. _Something searched through him, lingering for a long moment on the dark mark on his left arm, but eventually passing...

And Regulus Arcturus Black safely touched down in the middle of the back lawn of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. For a moment he felt relief, and a grudging acknowledgment for Dumbledore. At least the old man cast the spell properly, even if Lily Potter really did all the work.

Returning the cellular phone to normal size, the wizard allowed himself to gaze on it. It looked bulky, and it was obviously shielded against electromagnetic waves. For all the good it did. He pulled out the antenna, all five inches of it, and pressed the speed-dial button. The standard ringtone could be heard in the emitter, and soon enough someone answered.

And proceeded to fail to make themselves understood.

Regulus moved the phone away from his ear and glared at it. "Engorgio." And just like that, the antenna was three meters long. Maybe if its tip was far enough from him, it would work better-ah yes. M was on a roll there. "-ld at least have the grace to at least greet the person you're calling-"

"I want a penthouse."

That shut her up.

"Not in London though, too much pollution. Somewhere nice, a good-sized city but with clean night skies. It'll have to be large enough for me, my equipment and research labs. You can dock the pay from my so-called collaboration fees over the next seven years, and I might even share some of my inventions if I happen to feel annoyed enough with Wizarding Britain to not care about the Statute of Secrecy. I'll even let you install a helipad if you want, but I want something in exchange."

"Naturally, it's not as though providing you with such accommodations could _possibly_ be considered a favor _by_ us instead of _for_ us."

Regulus smirked. Despite the sarcasm, she hadn't outright come out and said no. "Of course."

"Well? What has that mind of yours cooked up now? What do you think we will agree to do this time?"

"Set up a permanent watch. With undercover plants and everything else in the whole set."

A pause on the other line. When M spoke again, she was serious. "On whom? And where?"

"A person of interest to Her Majesty's Government. I _could_ say he is the heir to the true line of the Duke of Norfolk," -he ignored the gasp of whoever was in the same room as M- "But I won't emphasize that since the Queen won't care much about someone that may or may not supplant en entire existing Peerage, even if it is of the Earl Marshall. So instead I'll just say it's the baby that offed that dark wizard two weeks ago."

He waited, until M realized he wasn't going to give the location unless she agreed. "I suppose a Penthouse paid from your own money wouldn't be too much of a difficulty in exchange for the address."

"I'm glad we understand each other so well."


	7. Chapter 6: Painstaking Preparations

**Chapter 6: Pointed, Painstaking and Precise Prior Preparations Preclude Poor Performance  
**

"-. .-"

"Lily and James, Sirius? How could you?!" Wormtail sent a blasting curse at the ground and the street between him and Sirius exploded violently. Screams sounded, and broken bodies and severed body parts got hurled through the air, flames surging like a vengeful demon from a damaged gas line. The shock of the blood and death essentially buffeting Sirius head-on bought Peter enough time to cut off his finger and turn into a rat, escaping through the sewers.

Blood splattered him from somewhere. He didn't see where, just like he didn't notice falling to his knees. His eyes were riveted on the smattering of red on his hands and clothes. Suddenly it wasn't the blood of random bystanders there, but James'. James and Lily's.

Black started laughing.

It was hilarious. Hysterical really. It made him laugh loud enough to wake the dead, though he barely heard himself even then. "James and Lily." Then he was in tears. He didn't even know if he was laughing or crying by that point. "Ha-ha-ha-ha... I killed James and Lily."

Things went blurry after that. There was the vague feeling of being manhandled, pulled to his feet and manacled. Then the feeling of a portkey, the tug behind his navel...

His apparition deposited him just off the side of Tottenham Court Road. He knew there was a muggle pub that Peter liked to hang out in here. Yes, there he was, the trash. Just beyond the glass window. Sirius allowed himself a moment of vindicated elation when the rat met his eyes and blanched. His legilimency attack was backed by a burst of uncontrolled magic that should never happen to trained wizards. It speared through the glass, shattering it, and he went a step further, shoving all his contempt and _hate_ at the poor, pathetic excuse of a human being.

Poor, _pathetic_ little Peter.

Then it was like a drain. The single instant of satisfaction of that whole night was drained from his recollection, this flashback, and he was on his knees again, laughing hysterically, being transported away-

"James! Lily!" It didn't matter that he'd almost splinched himself by apparating to Godric's Hollow all the way from across the English Channel. As soon as he appeared with a thundering blast of wind, he ran through the destroyed doorway, muttering denials as though the reality would go away if he willed it hard enough. "Oh Merlin, James!" It was a nightmare. It had to be. The sight in the living room just couldn't be real.

He couldn't got close enough to touch him. He didn't _dare_. If he touched him, it would make everything real-

Lumbering footsteps somehow caught his attention. Forcing his mind to assume some form of coherence, Sirius looked away from the wretched sight and to the hallway. Hagrid was there, and he had a bundle almost completely hidden in his coat. The sound of baby talk coming from it was like-

Clawing, freezing terror seeped through his recollection, and he suddenly couldn't remember it anymore, the relief of seeing Harry alive. There was just the argument, Hagrid bullishly refusing to hand Harry over, the damned bastard. "It's Dumbledore's orders Sirius, Dumbledore's orders!" Like he _cared_ what Dumbledore said at that point! He almost drew his wand on Hagrid, but he couldn't risk harming Harry.

But he was past caring about decorum. Hagrid didn't even notice the Legilimency probe. So, Dumbledore was sending him to Lily's sister. Was that man going senile, sending him to those..._ people_? How was Hagrid supposed to even get him there? Could he even apparate? Hagrid apparating with Harry was a thought not deserving of contemplation, so Sirius lent him the bike and apparated away himself, in pursuit of the traitorous rat. If he couldn't have Harry, at least he could avenge his friends.

After he got Peter, he could track down Harry, now that he knew where he would be, and put things to rights the best he could.

Then all he could see was Peter cutting off his finger and blurring into a rat, disappearing in the crater he'd made. The sight of his mousy face as he did it played in front of his eyes, over and over and over and-

The pull weakened. There was something hard and cold beneath him. And just when had he ended up on his back? Had he lost consciousness? He was lying down, with a forearm on his forehead and one leg hanging off the slab that served as a bed, staring up. There wasn't a burning street anymore, or a smoking hut. There was bare rock. Black obsidian everywhere. Merlin's mercy, he'd ended up in Azkaban...

No, wait. Something like a dog was barking at him, in his mind. Barking mad he was. Every time he came to his senses, it was a similar feeling. He hated the cold. It never went away. Had it not been for his magic, his bones would have gone brittle and broken long ago. His mind would have collapsed on itself from overuse. It was always the same when Dementors came by to feast. Every day they "visited" inmates in the top security section, and had their "food" in the form of happy thoughts. Every day he would feel as though he'd only just ended up in here, just before the memory of his long-lasting misery came crashing down again.

A human guard would come around about an hour later with dry bread and water. Maybe it was a twisted kind of mercy: bring sustenance right after Dementors drain you, making sure you still have enough left in you for when Dementors came by again. No wait. This wasn't one of those times. Food had been hours ago. This was the midnight visit. The next meal would only come in eight hours.

Maybe it was all just a tactic used to ensure Dementors never ran out of a food source.

"It's probably both."

Sirius didn't react, but only because he didn't immediately realize it hadn't been him who said that. Then he groaned and pressed his fingers against his eyes. "Marvelous." His voice was rough from lack of use. "Now I'm hearing voices."

"I should think so!" The voice said from the middle of the small cell. "I'm willing to do a lot of things but I draw the line at talking to the deaf." Sirius could feel his mind clearing, just like it did every time Dementors finally left. So why was he still hearing voices? Why was it getting louder? "Obviously because you are not hallucinating." It was a startlingly familiar drawl.

Sirius blinked ownlishly and slowly craned his neck to the right. His mouth moved, but no sound came at first.

The visitor drew a rune-covered cube from somewhere in his black coat. It was white with black writing. The runes turned a soft gold when a wand tip tapped it, then the ghost sent the cube to sit on the windowsill of the small barred window. All with a swish and flick. "Hello Sirius."

"... I must be dead and gone to Hell."

The ghost, or hallucination, or whatever it was, frowned minutely. "You'd think this would be enough of a hell already."

Sirius snorted mirthlessly, looking back up. His brother's face was too unblemished for someone who joined Voldemort and died in his service. He didn't want to see it. "I'm long past the point where I believe there's no room for worse." He gestured weakly at his brother's seemingly solid specter. "Case in point."

"Then I suppose you'll more easily accept what I have to say."

Sirius skipped a breath. He didn't think he could still feel worry, but the way the hallucination spoke... Then something finally came to his attention. The cold wasn't so horrible anymore. His eyes flickered to the cube. He reached out to it with his magic, his _feeling_, forgetting that he was supposed to have forgotten how to do it. Warmth rolled off it, dispelling the lingering Dementor gloom. Was it actually real?

He looked at his supposed brother again but still didn't sit up. "Why... How am I seeing you...? How are you here?"

"I'm here because the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has a new Lord, and he summoned me to bring you a message on this day of June 1, 1988." Regulus, or whatever the shade was, was being surprisingly concise. "You're going to be pulled out of Azkaban because your godson... well, let's just say Lord Black wants you out of here as soon as possible so you can do something."

"What?!" He didn't sit up. He jumped to his feet, though he barely steadied himself when a wave of dizziness descended upon him. "My godson...? W-..." A second wave, worse than the first rocked him. He almost fell over, but he succeeded in only stumbling once. Bringing his palm to his forehead, he shut his eyes, waiting for the disorientation to pass and for the blood to come back to his head. "What's wrong with Harry?" he croaked. But when he looked around, he was alone again. "Dammit!" For once, he wanted, hoped it had all been a hallucination, just so he could believe that Harry, at least, escaped a wretched fate, unlike his parents.

But then he saw the cube, still on the windowsill. He stared blankly at it for a few seconds, then slowly reached for it. It was high up, but he was tall enough to grab it... and it only turned to dust when he came into contact with it. He grabbed at it but the dust just got blown by the wind that always seeped through the bars, and the ever present drizzle of Azkaban skies.

Tired, he slumped back on his so-called bed and fell back lying down. He rubbed his face with both hands, but try as he might he couldn't decide between believing it had all been a hallucination or a real message. He knew it hadn't been a dream. Even the nightmares suffered in Azkaban were never new. Only horrible memories. But if it was a hallucination...

Suddenly, he could hear the other inmates moving, some yelling, screaming in their sleep. There had been a privacy ward around his cell and it had fallen.

Something dropped on his chest.

Too weary to jump in fright, he fumbled around and found something. Something smooth. He looked at it and moved it around in his palm, not believing what he was seeing. Not believing what he was feeling.

It was probably really stupid of him. Maybe it was poisoned after all, but he broke a small piece and nibbled on it. Warmth and sweetness seeped into him. It was real. It was a slab of chocolate and it was _real_. The chill of Dementors that he didn't realize was still in him began to crack and thaw. Merlin, it was the food of the gods. He almost started crying.

Later, he would finally come back to himself and have enough mental acuity to wonder about everything and what it meant. Then he would start to imagine scenarios involving Harry starved, injured, _beaten_, completely setting aside any thoughts about Peter Pettigrew. His obsession had been broken with just one sentence spoken by a ghost. His anchor, that he was innocent, was changed for a different thought, even more unhappy than the first.

Right then, though, he was still an Azkaban inmate, whose ability to feel had been damaged to the point where he couldn't experience, or rather acknowledge, more than one emotion or sensation at a time. So he settled for the warmth of the chocolate. It was a privilege, he knew, so he wouldn't waste it. Not like he wasted a chance at a good life with his Godson when he foolishly let Hagrid take him away.

"-. .-"

There was nothing special about the 31st of May. Well, that wasn't strictly true. If you were a history buff, you _might_ know that May 31, the year 455, was when Emperor Petronius Maximus was stoned to death by an angry mob while fleeing Rome. If you were a history expert, you also _might _know that May 31, 526, was when a devastating earthquake struck Antioch, Turkey, killing 250,000. May 31, 1279 BC, also happened to be the day when Ramses II The Great of the 19th dynasty became pharaoh of Ancient Egypt.

In more recent history, May 31 was when the hull of the ocean liner RMS Titanic got launched (1911), The West Indies Federation dissolved (1962) and when the Ancash earthquake caused a landslide that buried the town of Yungay, Peru, killing over 47,000 people (1970).

Most of these events had little bearing on the Magical World especially Wizarding Britain. Officially anyway. What the Unspeakables said was another matter, though that was neither here nor there.

Nothing said the date would not or should not become memorable though.

Then again, Amelia Bones thought as she strode purposefully down the corridor leading to the Ministry of Magic main elevator, the day would probably not go down in history at all, at least not because of what she'd gotten herself involved in on that particular day. It was a fluke that it all started on that date anyway. It was almost midnight when she got that visitor. That will teach her to stay and work so late in the future. Hopefully the paperwork mess left over from her predecessor, Crouch, and all the files related to her instatement as head of the DMLE would thin out soon.

The elevator door stayed open just enough time for the paper plane messages and a handful of wizards and witches to get in before it closed and started its journey down. As she waited, the witch couldn't help but inwardly groan at how much this new mess would cut into her time. She had to go forward with it though. If things went well, it would all be over in two months. July 30, 1988 would probably end up being the monumental day in Magical Britain's history, not May 31, when it truly all started.

Leaving the elevator and nodding shortly at the people who greeted her, Amelia Bones felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straighter and straighter with each step she took towards the Minister's Office. What she was about to do was the sort of thing that made or ruined someone's career, especially in law enforcement. The witch wondered if there was some sort of god out to get a laugh out of all this. Why oh _why_ did this have to be dumped in her lap in her first week as leader of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?

Amelia Bones inwardly frowned at her own complaints. She shouldn't feel that way. If anything, this was long overdue. Learning that an innocent person had been in Azkaban for just a couple of months short of seven years had been enough to give her an insomnia. That and the fact that she was about to call on it one of the two people who'd put the man there in the first place... and she wouldn't even be telling her that yet.

Merlin help her, this skullduggery wasn't her type of thing. She wondered how horrible a person it made her that she was grateful she had that... _damning_ information to prove her point. She hated that she had a reason to feel grateful for a child, _that_ child, suffering in that manner.

At least the way she learned of it was so completely surreal that it was almost worth staying up at night. Almost.

She stepped in the antechamber to the Minister's office. "Hello Andrea. I have an appointment with the Minister."

"I'll see if she is ready for you, Ma'am."

Amelia waited just a couple of minutes before the secretary returned. "Minister Bagnold will see you now ma'am."

With another nod, Amelia entered the office and closed the doors behind her. Millicent Bagnold was an unusual Minister. Barely 32 years of age, she was one of the youngest ministers in history, saddled with the position after several of her predecessors had been assassinated, back in the early 1970s. It was during her term that Aurors were allowed to use lethal force, including unforgivables, against Death Eaters. Amelia hoped her approval of Sirius Black's wrongful imprisonment was just a mistake, instead of a political move. There really was no reason for the latter, from what she could see. With the euphoria of Voldemort's defeat, there really wasn't a need for a scapegoat at the time.

"Amelia, come in!" Bagnold looked older than she really was. The lines on her face were mostly _not_ from laughter. Still, her brown hair, cut short, had no gray hairs yet, so that was something. Her brown eyes surveyed Amelia quickly, likely noticing how tense she was. "Sit down. What can I do for you?"

"Perhaps I should start with the stipulation that I would prefer it if you didn't kill the messenger?" She sat down across the desk from Bagnold.

The minister frowned. "This is going to be one of those days, won't it?"

Amelia opened her bag and pulled out a stack of parchment from the enlarged space within. "I suggest you go through everything here first, Minister."

"It's Millicent, Amelia, as I kept telling you even before you replaced Crouch." She leaned over to accept the stack of documents. Calling Barthemius "Barty" Crouch by his last name was minor as far as hints went, but it implied that she liked her better than the previous DMLE head.

It was one of the longest 15 minutes of Amelia's life. Millicent proved very meticulous after realizing just what that whole mess was about. A small frown and a pursing of her lips was all the reaction she let others see. Then she found that last piece of parchment, that _letter_, and looked at it for a long moment, going visibly paler when the two muggle photos slipped from the paperclip and on the desk.

The minister leaned back in her seat and began to rub her eyes. When she was done, she stared at Amelia so intensely that the latter wasn't sure she wanted to hear what she was about to say. "If this is a prank..." She stopped, thinking better of it. Her menacing tone faltered. "It's not, is it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"And this... other information..."

"If I'm not mistaken... the Wizengamot should have been notified by now, but the memo might not reach you until the end of the day."

Bagnold slumped. The resignation overcame her faster than Amelia expected.

But then it was like none of it had happened and the minister grabbed a piece of parchment and started writing something on it. "Well, look at the clock. It's time for lunch. I'll have to review all this later." She then, not so subtly, pushed all the papers, including her note, back to Amelia, who frowned but obliged, putting them all back in her bag.

"Good day then, Minister."

Millicent waved a hand lazily through the air. "It's Millicent, Amelia."

"Very well, Millicent."

Amelia left the office, then the secretary's. Her walk back to her own office was spent pushing down her impulse to break into a run. When she was finally there, she pulled out the papers she'd been given back. Then, she came to the last one, the one Bagnold had written on.

_"Meet me at Cafe Vergnano, 1882, 62 Charing Cross Road, in 20 minutes. Dress muggle."_

Amelia Bones sighed and shook her head and incinerated the note. This was going to be a long week.

"-. .-"

Cafe Vergnano was a surprisingly understated little restaurant. Amelia arrived 10 minutes before 10 and took the small table farthest from the window as soon as she entered. She ordered a black coffee and sat back to wait.

A blond woman dressed in nondescript garments took a seat across from her. "You should try the frappe."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at the glamors. Blond hair, black eyes, a paler skin complexion. Not a bad disguise overall. "Maybe I will."

The waitress came, brought their orders and left. Millicent produced her wand from her sleeve and raised a privacy bubble. Her expression became severe right as the ward snapped in place. "You're telling me the Boy-who-lived has been living a life of slavery in an abusive household? And I only learn this _now_?"

"Yes."

Both women jumped. Millicent even cursed.

As though one were the mirror reflection of the other, they both had their wands trained on the man that was on the seat backing the wall, right next to them both. He was half-smiling at their reaction. "I come in peace. Really."

"Who the devil are you?" Bagnold hissed. She definitely hated being caught unawares. "How did you get here? How come we didn't notice you?"

"Good disillusionment, I arrived here before Amelia did and... I am under polyjuice."

"I asked who _are_ you_?_" Bagnold growled.

The man frowned and the atmosphere became noticeably more frigid. "If you paid any more attention to what is _in front_ of you," he raised his right hand again. "You would realize who I am."

The women finally noticed the very visible signet ring. "You're shitting me," Bagnold always did start cussing when she got angry. "You're Lord Black?"

Amelia sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I _did_ mention it in the notes, Millicent. Unfortunately, he decided to drop in." She scowled at the disguised man, asking herself just who he could be or how he knew to appear there and then. This meeting was a spur of the moment thing, not something that he could have possibly known about. There weren't many official Blacks left, but there were some squib or otherwise disowned lines from where a magical descendent could have cropped up and somehow taken lordship. "Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised, given the way he just showed up in my office last night."

Lord Black raised an eyebrow. It looked decidedly odd on the random pedestrian face he was wearing. "It is your own fault for working until midnight, madame."

The minister sighed. "When did this happen? Sodding hell, I really don't need this shit right now."

Lord Black frowned. "Oh, you'll _make_ time for it because I find myself not caring about your opinion." His tone suddenly turned icy. "And you should at least mind decorum, _Minister_. Be thankful I am meeting you like this instead of taking things directly to the Wizengamot. Or the press. I can set the whole wizarding world on you for the crime you committed against your _precious hero_." His sarcasm was like a flood. "And to _think_ that none of this would have happened if you hadn't sent an innocent man to Azkaban." He glared at them both. "_Disgusting_ is what it is."

Amelia wasn't surprised. Bagnold, however, was. Because Amelia hadn't shared that bit with her. "What are you talking about?"

Lord Black answered languidly. "Come now, Minister. There was only _one_ person sent to Azkaban without a trial. It figures you'd manage to commit such a crime against the one man that happened to be innocent of the charges that were never made."

The brown-haired woman blinked and shook her head in denial.

"Yes," he drawled. "I wonder just how the Prophet will butcher you when they learn you did that to the _godfather_ of the Boy-who-Lived." His eyes flashed and the air seemed to fill with static. It prevented either woman from interrupting. "Though I suppose as Lord Black I should be more affronted by the fact that you did that to the Heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House. Sending him to Azkaban on a whim?" He leaned forward and gave her a terrifying glare. "Just who the hell do you and Crouch think you are that you felt you didn't need to bother giving Sirius Black the trial he was due? And don't even_ bother_ with the Secret Keeper argument, because it should be clear by now that he wasn't _it, _and that I know who it was."

"But the evidence-"

"Doesn't exist!" Lord Black stood up in his chair, looming over them both. "There is nothing," he waved a hand to warn them off interrupting. "_Nothing_... in the records, because no charges were filed and no trial was made. You did it all based on _'everyone knows he did it'_ because of that simpering fool Cornelius Fudge! Because he happened to be the first from the Magical Catastrophe Reversal Squad that reached the sight! Because he obliviated the muggle witnesses before the aurors arrived! Because of _one_ idiot that misinterpreted the situation, Sirius Black is in that hell and has been for the past seven years! And because _you_ were too busy letting wizards break the Statute of Secrecy by celebrating Voldemort's fall! How is it that the two people who did most and lost the most because of that day have been constantly suffering ever since then?!"

It suddenly didn't matter how nondescript the face being worn by the man was. Millicent winced and Amelia cringed in her own seat. The man sat back down put one leg over the other. "It would not even have come to a trial. The man was hardly in a position to acknowledge his legal rights, with the emotional state he was in. He should have gone to St. Mungo's instead of your precious prison. A calming drought and it would have been a simple matter of a questioning and he'd have gone on his way, maybe even taken custody of your precious Boy-Who-Lived instead of letting that Dumbledore you all seem to follow like sheep dump him on the doorstep of that abusive muggle family. On the doorstep! Like a worthless parcel!"

There was a very pregnant pause before Millicent finally realized what Lord Black had said, completely derailing the scathing, self-entitled rebuke she was going to give. Completely pushing aside her inner question of _who on earth could he be?_ "But it _can't_ be! Dumbledore said he'd be safe-"

"Yes, and I suppose insofar as he hasn't starved to death _quite _all the way, that the bullying and 'accidents' have only left him with sprains, bruises and bone fractures, and that performing the work of a house elf hasn't drained him of all life, he is _very_ 'safe'," Lord Black air quoted the last word, showing how he truly felt about the situation. "I don't even need Cassiopeia Black's Dark Tome of blackmail material to make this your last year of term, and turn it and the rest of your life into hell. All I need is the press. I have half a mind to tell the Daily Prophet _exactly_ how you were too busy, and I quote you here, 'defending people's inalienable right to party' to bother handling the placement of the Boy-Who-Lived. To bother wondering why Dumbledore sealed the Potters' will. And to bother checking in on the child instead of letting him be abused, used like a house elf and made to live and sleep in the cupboard under the stairs."

Both women were equally horrified at the revelation. "No! It's impossible! Dumbledore said... He said he'd been moved to a place where he would be safe from anyone seeking to take revenge for You-Know-Who. How do you know this?"

Lord Black's blank stare very slowly morphed into a seething glare. "I did what your Ministry should have done. I _looked_, how else?" He leaned forward menacingly and roughly tossed a couple of wizarding photographs on the table. One was of the boy with a lightning bolt scar and glasses taped together, toiling at a garden, dressed in oversized clothes, and looking small and thin both because and in spite of the huge, ugly hand-me-downs. He didn't even have protective gloves. His hands were red and swollen because of the nettles he was pulling out of the ground.

The other was of a cramped space, with a small mattress that had seen better days. The perspective changed, and they could see a sheet of paper, glued on a door that said "Harry's Room" in a childlike scrawl. As if that small space was the most precious thing the boy had...

The women stared at them, speechless.

"Know this, Millicent Bagnold, since I suspect the next thing you'll ask about is what agenda the head of a _dark_ family would have in all this," the man was clearly past honorifics. "Harry Potter, by the blood of his grandmother, is part of the House of Black. Now that I hold Lordship, I will do what the former Lord was too apathetic to do, and act in the best interest of my family. _You_ wronged my house _twice_! Once by unlawfully condemning its Heir, a second time by dooming your Boy-Who-Lived to a life of misery by preventing that Heir from assuming custody, as the Potters would have wanted."

Amelia sat inert, drink forgotten. What the man was saying... it was more than enough to ruin everyone involved. Even Dumbledore wouldn't come out of this unscathed if it all went public.

"But I've said enough on that matter." Lord Black leaned away from the table again. "You'll get no more information on that from me just yet. It is not _my_ fault all of you in the Wizarding World just accepted the brazen way Dumbledore circumvented the system and hid him away without even offering an explanation for his sudden, unusual interest in that particular baby. I almost took Harry away from there, but it would have qualified as kidnapping and made things needlessly complicated. Yet now I am debating whether coming with this information to you was worth the effort."

Millicent drunk all of her coffee, clearly wishing it was an alcoholic beverage. "Let's get on with it then. You've more than made your point." The woman was clearly shaken. Being known as the minister who sentenced the savior to the life of a house elf was _not_ how she wanted her term to end, Amelia was sure.

The man gave her an intense stare. "I will make _one_ demand now, and if I don't like the way you answer me, I will use all my resources to destroy you and Barty Crouch both. Then I will remove the boy from there regardless of what you or that old man want." Despite not being an actual target, Amelia couldn't help but feel a bit of the pressure herself. "I want Sirius Black out of Azkaban and at a secure location by the end of the day. I won't demand that he be released into my custody, but I _do_ want a healer of my choice to have access to him. And I want _no one_ else to know of it or be able to speak of it."

Millicent gave Amelia a pointed look.

So the new DMLE leader decided to be professional. "I will see to it."

Lord Black relaxed marginally and took a swig from a small, dark brown plastic bottle that he produced from one of the pockets of the overcoat he had with him. "Ah, how I _loathe_ the taste of Polyjuice. But what can a man do, right?" He placed it back, ignoring the strange looks of the two women. Then he gave them both searching looks before nodding curtly, dismissing them from the table even though _he_ was, technically, _their_ guest. "I will be here again at 10 tonight. If I am satisfied with how things turn out, perhaps we may be able to work together after all, and you, Minister, will be known as the one that was not afraid to own up to her mistake. And as the minister that ensured _Dumbledore's_ _grave failure _in regards to the Boy-who-Lived was redressed."

Amelia left the cafe, thinking furiously. She'd have to select her people carefully, and she'd demand vows of silence from them. She didn't want to contemplate how much more complicated this all could be if there was no way to magically enforce oaths.

"-. .-"

Sirius Black completely failed to notice when the time for breakfast and subsequent Dementor visit came and went without either happening. He also missed the lunch, and the second Dementor "visit" of the day, or lack thereof. He was too busy wondering if the previous night's... meeting had been a delusion after all. When he wasn't in denial, he was imagining horrifying situations involving his godson. How horrible did things have to be for his dead brother to come see him from beyond the grave? Where was everyone else that should have had a stake in Harry's life if _he_ was the one getting visions like that?

The man sat inertly on his so-called bed, hands grabbing at the tussled hair of his bowed head. He debated turning himself into Padfoot, but decided against it. The hound was too single-minded, his feelings too simple, and this was one occasion when he needed to think, however much he might have liked the relief of the dog's warm coat of fur.

_Click. _

The door to his cell swung open, a creaky, rickety thing. Black looked up in spite of himself, only to see a square-jawed woman wearing professional auror robes, and two aurors he didn't recognize. He didn't know _why_ he got to his feet, but he did. The woman... he knew her from his days with the law enforcement. Aurors had different type of training than Hit-Wizards, but he'd worked with her a few times. "Oh Merlin..." But the only visits he got from anyone outside Azkaban were the yearly ones from the Minister. That he was getting one outside the schedule couldn't mean anything good. Normally he'd think they'd finally come to get him the Dementor's Kiss, but he'd been mainly thinking of one thing over the past few hours, something he considered worse that the Kiss.

Which was why his first question came as a shock to both him and his visitors. "Please tell me you're not here about my godson." His voice was no less rough from misuse than the previous day. "He's okay... isn't he?"

The aurors on both sides of Amelia Bones looked at him in bewilderment.

"_Isn't_ he!" he ground out thought clenched teeth, anger and impatience flashing in his steely silver-grey eyes. The aurors made for their wands, but he only had eyes for the woman.

"Who do you mean by your Godson, prisoner Black?"

"Harry!" Sirius couldn't care less about her even tone. "Harry Potter, who else? Now answer my question!"

The men on both sides of their boss looked pole-axed.

"-. .-"

It was close to 10 in the morning of the following day, and Amelia was again walking down the halls of the ministry. Yet her thoughts were still on the previous day's events. Of all the things she'd expected Black to say upon first seeing him, _that_ had not been it. And now she had to meet Millicent again.

She just _knew_ things would continue to be troublesome for a long time.

Once she was finally at the office, she was admitted in and took the same seat as the day before. Their second meeting with Lord Black (polyjuiced differently) ended with the man basically dumping a plan of action in their lap, one that they had to iron out the details of but which they, grudgingly, admitted was brilliant in its audacity. Amelia had asked the minister how they would handle the leaks, to which Millicent smirked and said to just come to her office and play her part, and that she'd understand.

She was surprised that Millicent wasn't more resentful of being ordered around and essentially blackmailed, until she remembered that the woman always respected a cunning mind.

And there she was now, the Minister, leaving through the new set of papers that Lord Black had provided. She peered at Amelia very intently for a few minutes, rapping the fingertips of her other hand on the tops of the last piece of parchment. Then she slowly pulled out her wand and nonverbally performed a spell.

Four items in the office glowed yellow for a long moment. Even the small, earth globe-shaped paperweight on her desk.

Amelia almost gasped in shock. All of those were surveillance charms. But that was illegal. Someone was spying on the minister and she knew it. Was it even called spying if she knew? Was she part of some sort of conspiracy? Rumors were rampant in some circles, but they were of a different tone. Everyone expected her to retire in two years at most...

That Bagnold revealed this to her could mean her hands were tied. That someone would know whatever would be spoken of in that office. But that would mean they had something to blackmail her with, suggesting that she didn't have a completely clean record... Or maybe she'd _knowingly_ convicted Black without a trial. Merlin, had she just done the greatest mistake of her life? Lord Black had told her to come to Bagnold with all this. Did he really have good information?

But then she caught herself and realized what this revelation _really _meant. Millicent _knew_ she was being spied on, and she was having fun controlling what everyone heard. Amelia wouldn't be surprised if the woman herself had some similar charms or devices planted in her "competitors" workspaces.

"Merlin woman, this will be ugly when it gets out," Bagnold said. "To think we missed such a chance. How did this not come out before?"

Amelia hesitated, then slowly brought out her wand, mouthing but not speaking "Privacy bubble?"

Bagnold shook her head minutely and smirked, before schooling her expression into a perfect image of consternation. She was definitely going with the plan they'd agreed on, or rather Lord Black had presented, the previous evening. "To think we could have learned who the Black Phantom was if we hadn't overlooked giving Black a trial." She tossed the document on the table. "You do realize this will make me look silly, right? You know how many people believe the Phantom was secretly working for You-know-Who. In hindsight it's obvious that Black, if he was You-Know-Who's secret right hand man, might not have been the _only_ secret right hand man. It makes sense they would have known each other. The Prophet is going to have kittens over the Ministry failing to follow up on such a lead."

Throughout her speech, Bagnold began to shuffle through the documents, discretely picking out some of the papers and sliding them back to Amelia, who tried her best to maintain a casual air as she put them back in her bag. Inside, she was doing her best to keep up with Bagnold's subterfuge.

"This will demand veritaserum," Bagnold said. "And we'll need Black out of his cell. We'll want him coherent if we're going to squeeze the information from him, and Dementor exposure won't really help. If we learn he was in cahoots with the Phantom under You-Know-Who's command, he'll probably be kissed. Both of them really, if we can find the guy." Bagnold tapped the armrests with her fingers. "Make sure Black is out of Azkaban and in a secure location by this weekend. By then we'll have figured out how to handle this. Probably a public trial, though with the notifications to a minimum so we'll, hopefully, not be mobbed too much. Not St. Mungo's though. People will want to flay him, and we need him alive for the questioning. I'll leave it to your discretion, Amelia. This'll be a good trial by fire for our newest Department Head. Choose your men carefully, Amelia, we don't want any leaks until we make a press statement."

Amelia stood up, recognizing the double speak for what it was: Bagnold fully expected a leak, and no repercussions would befall her and the DMLE when it came, except maybe a pretend-berate, because it would probably stem from whoever was spying on her. And Sirius had already been moved, so it wasn't like their operation was in danger. That Bagnold phrased everything in a way that completely avoided telling lies was a bonus. "I understand, Minister."

"It's Millicent, Amelia."

"-. .-"

_**Enigma of the Black Phantom Finally Going to Be Revealed!**_

_**Identity of the mysterious vigilante and details about his activities will be disclosed in Wizangamot Open Meeting!**_

_By Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet Correspondent_

_Few will disagree that tomorrow, July 30, 1988, will be one of the most exciting days of the past decade, right after Halloween 1981, when You-Know-Who was finally destroyed by Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. An open session of the Wizengamot will take place at noon, and it will truly give the word "open" a whole new meaning. We at the daily Prophet, after a thorough investigation, have learned that the number of those in attendance will be tremendous, all eager to learn, at long last, WHO the Black Phantom is. _

_ Not only will the Wizengamot and countless witches and wizards be there, but there will be a press booth, with international paper journalists invited by Minister Bagnold herself. What's more, the whole event will be transmitted, live, on the Wizarding Wireless Network!_

_ We have also learned that the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries have been hard at work expanding Meeting Room 10 and installing a special memory viewing device that takes the concept of pensieves to its logical extreme. This reporter even managed to sneak a peek while the large, mirror-like slabs were being installed on the vaulted ceiling in a tridecagonal pyramid with no base (a pyramid with thirteen sides)._

_ For those who seek an abbreviated timeline, the first murmurs about the Black Phantom in recent years sprouted near the beginning of June. Whispers about the mysterious wizard have been around since before the end of the war of course, but he has been living up to his name, leaving only those traces of his brief appearances that he wished. From insiders and reluctant officials that couldn't always go without talking to the press, it has been agreed that the Black Phantom is a vigilante that occasionally turns dark wizards, mostly former Death Eaters, to the Department of magical Law Enforcement._

_ Yet there are also those suspicious of the way he conducts his activities. Some believe he was a double agent during the last war, like Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape. Others even go as far as saying he was always on You-Know-Who's side. None of these speculations have gained any weight though._

_ At least until now._

_ This reporter has done her best to go above and beyond the call of duty, only seeking to bring out the truth, and it does look like the truth might be more sinister than anyone thinks: the Black Phantom could very well have been working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after all!_

_ That's right, dear readers. Sources inside the ministry believe he may have been with the Dark all along, because of information that new DMLE head Amelia Bones discovered, and which actually makes the large gathering make sense: the man was in close contact with infamous mass murderer and You-Know-Who's right hand man, Sirius Black! Better known for betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who on that fateful night, then murdering their friend, Peter Pettigrew and 12 muggles._

_ Although admittedly big news, before today, we at the Daily Prophet were confused as to why the Ministry would make such a big fuss, and why the DOM would take such an open action as to upgrade the meeting room in such a manner. The matter of the unknown wizard could have been covered in a simple press release. Yet now we know: Sirius Black will be given a trial! And it is during that trial that the missing link, the information on the Black Phantom, will be revealed!_

_As strange as it sounds, Sirius Black was never given a trial. The best guess for __why__ that happened is that, with you-Know-Who having just fallen, shipping Black to Azkaban was the fastest way to close that dark chapter of the Wizarding World's history. Unfortunately, the leader of the DMLE Amelia Bones was unavailable for comment, so we do not yet know why the current administration would do such a thing. It is possible that previous chief Auror, Barthemius Crouch, felt that the weight of the charges and evidence was so overwhelming that expediting the conviction was justified._

_ Currently, Sirius Black is being held at an undisclosed location. Given the reports about his insanity at the time he was apprehended, we suspect he is being treated in some way that will allow him to properly answer questions and provide the information the whole of Wizarding Britain is waiting for._

_ For an in-depth article on the Black Phantom, see page 5._

_..._

Sirius tossed the newspaper away in disgust, just like he had the previous day, when it actually came out. While he was amazed at how well the entire deception was going, he couldn't help but feel resentful at how he was being portrayed. On the one hand, his pride felt trampled because of being considered an accessory to the "real" news. On the other, he was worried that all the bad press would be hard to turn around after everything happened.

More than that, however, he was frustrated at essentially being a helpless man. He'd not been able to do anything about his own situation ever since he'd been moved to that safe house. It was a cottage with a small clearing in the middle of some forest, warded to the teeth against escape and unauthorized infiltration. The transfer from Azkaban had been rushed, and he'd only seen Amelia Bones a couple of times since then. He'd provided some copies of memories, but otherwise he'd been kept completely out of the loop.

And his _company_. Dear Merlin, those four aurors that kept working in shifts of two weren't great conversation. And the _healer_. As if it wasn't weird enough that he always came under a different polyjuice disguise every day, he also had an annoying habit of getting him to talk about what he felt, either by slipping him calming draughts or by annoying him enough that Sirius inevitably cracked and snapped something which, while rude, was usually heartfelt enough to qualify as "therapeutic."

Sirius hadn't even realized it was the same person until the fourth day of the first week. He supposed he should feel glad that the second month of his stay at the safe house had been relatively comfortable. The first had been much more trying: two weeks of (forced) bed rest and a heavy potion regimen, followed by two weeks of minimum physical strain and an only slightly less serious potions regimen.

The healer had been very... _insistent_ on all that. And he was _still_ on nutrient potions, and would be for a week more, if everything turned out well.

Now he was actually encouraged to exercise, which was good because it was one of the few things that kept his mind away from his worry about Harry. He'd managed to wheedle a little information out of Amelia about his godson. _Only_ a little though: that the situation was being handled and that he'd be able to see him soon. It seemed that everyone except him were confident everything would turn out alright.

Sirius closed his eyes and leaned back in his large easy chair. In a way, this uncertainty of what would happen was even worse than not knowing what had become of Harry. At least before that... vision... he'd had no distinct reason to feel concerned. Now he was downright terrified, though he hid it well. All he felt was that the entire thing was taking too long, that each day he weathered away in that safe house was another day when those _people_ would do who knows what to his godson.

He didn't even _care_ about the Black Phantom really. Not much anyway. What bemused him more was that this whole business had been started by a mysterious new Lord Black. Amelia had confirmed it, and even she didn't know who it was. Bizarrely enough, all anyone knew about him was that he always appeared under polyjuice, like the healer...

Now there was a thought...

No, that wasn't right. It couldn't be the same person. Somehow Sirius knew that much.

Silver eyes fell on the previous day's edition of the Daily Prophet again. It was amazing that they'd misdirect everyone so thoroughly. He felt like he did back in school, even though he'd not been involved in the preparations. The situation had the marks of the Marauders all over it. Remus had to have been involved in this scheme. He was the only one left. Amelia hadn't said neither yey nor nay when he made an offhand remark about Remus, but he still hoped...

His eyes then slowly drifted to the clock on the wall. Just five more minutes and the cuckoo would start jumping out and signal the time to leave. His escort would arrive any minute. Sirius allowed himself to drift inward, focus on his occlumency and arranging his mind, bringing feelings of confidence to the forefront, even if they weren't very strong.

On a whim, he delved deeper, remembering how he used to achieve full awareness of everything around him. It was a wandless trick he learned because of necessity, during the last two years of the war. When you had an unknown wizard that could soundlessly apparate anywhere, being capable of casting a human revealing spell at any time was dead useful. The so-called Black Phantom had become something of a motivator, for him and James, to develop their meager wandless skills. It didn't matter that _any_ wandless magic was considered exceptional.

Sirius almost jumped when he detected not just the aurors, but also a third person in his range, right a couple of meters behind him. Probably just in front of the door to the front hallway of the house. His occluded state allowed him not to react at all, and he focused his magic. Intent based magic was very flexible, and could let one modify a certain effect based on the situation. It took half a minute, but it worked.

Ah. Even if the wooden leg wasn't a clear giveaway, the distinct feel given off by the artificial eye made it clear who was watching him. Magic like that stood out.

"You know it's not polite to stare," Sirius said flatly. "Especially when that beady eye of yours lets you do it without being obvious about it." He didn't really want to see him right now. "Or even from other rooms." Of all people, his Hit-Wizard mentor could have at least tried to make sure procedure was followed, instead of letting him be shipped to that hell without any explanation or legal justification.

Alastor Moody's voice was as gravelly as ever, but he did let some pleased surprise show. He was oblivious to the grim thoughts of his former, once star, pupil. "Well, I guess I don't have a reason to think you've left Constant Vigilance behind."

"No," he said. "I don't _abandon_ things so easily." Sirius had still not risen from his chair.

Moody didn't answer. The obvious emphasis on that word didn't escape him. _As well it shouldn't, _Sirius thought.

"Look, Black-"

"I have a pretty good idea of what you would say." Really, with how much time he'd been holed up there, preparing lines for when he finally confronted people was an inevitability. "But it won't help anyone if I hear it now." It was just two minutes to eleven. Seeing the impending alarm on the clock, the convict stood and slowly turned to face his former trainer. "It's not really so much that you didn't bother doing anything when they sent me to that hellhole for seven years." Breaking eye contact, Sirius walked to the hanger and picked up the sleeved black cloak. "No one else did, so it's not like you'd have any reason to be any different."

Moody stuffed his hands into the pockets of his large, brown trench coat. Sirius knew he knew he well _should_ have been different. Moody _knew_ him. He should have known better.

Sirius sighed. "Look. I can't really think about anything right now except the fact that, apparently, the only reason I was pulled out of there is because my _godson_ is being used as a slave and being subjected to Merlin knows what else." The cloak slid over his shoulders easily. he was still thinner than he should be, but at least he was well groomed now and actually looked presentable. "Until I learn something more... Until I can do something to get him away from those... _people..._ I won't be ready for anything else, no reconciliation, no asking for forgiveness, nothing."

Moody's scarred face looked like it was carved out of wood. At least his nose was intact. "That's surprisingly sensible."

Sirius scoffed. "It's the healer's fault."

"He's a good healer then."

It was also because he hadn't been shown any photos of Harry yet. Healer "Ted" had told him to seriously think if it was a good idea to _see_ those things before his trial. He told him to think hard because if he didn't handle things well, he might be judged unsuitable even if he did get exonerated. It surprised even him, but he eventually decided against seeing the pictures, even though Amelia offered to share them. He even rejected hearing any details about Harry's "home" life.

Frustration, in this case, was better than rage. Had his mind not been worn down by 7 years of dementor exposure, his occlumency would have been more than enough to handle the extra feelings.

Bur he chose not to risk it.

The clock struck 11 and the cuckoo started doing its thing.

"Well, I suppose that means we're up." Sirius pulled on his dragonhide boots. "Floo or portkey?"

"Portkey." Alastor pulled a normal spoon out of his pocket.

"Let's get this show started then."


	8. Chapter 7: Unsolicited Solicitor

**Chapter 7: Unsolicited Solicitor **

"-. .-"

The portkey deposited them in the large hall with many floo access points (ergo fireplaces) known as the Ministry Atrium, where Amelia and two aurors were waiting for them: John Dawlish and Gawain Robards. Amelia had really brought out the big guns. She wasn't taking any chances with his safety it seemed. Both men gave nearly imperceptible nods in his direction, which Sirius returned without word or other reaction.

There had been a small debate, a couple of days prior, regarding whether they should arrive there or Amelia Bones' office, which was much closer to what used to be Wizengamot Room 1 (now called Grand Tribunal and Primary Wizengamot Meeting Chamber). Amelia suggested her office, but Sirius decided to do the bold thing and take the full stroll, in view of everyone.

His head held high, the convict walked down the corridor leading to the elevator, glad he wasn't manacled or otherwise bound. Amelia was in front with Robards, while Dawlish and Moody brought up the rear. Sirius knew, without looking or sensing, that the paranoid auror was spinning his weird eye everywhere, giving the multitude of people goosebumps. The Ministry was less packed than Sirius expected, or maybe everyone had already gone where he was headed.

Nevertheless, there were plenty of people around, which was why it was so odd that no one paid them any mind until they reached halfway down the hall of the Atrium, where the Fountain of Magical Brethren was located. Sirius figured he didn't look at all like he did in that horrible photo taken when he was convicted. The way he strolled, with both hands behind his back and in his best impression of a pureblood lord, further dissociated him from the criminal.

So when the whispers and pointing started, most onlookers were surprised or bemused. Those that looked disgusted or fearful were rather few. Sirius outwardly ignored them, but inside he was laughing at their expressions. At least he had that much to distract him from thoughts of his godson, and the fact that the next day was going to be his birthday.

Eventually, they reached the elevator. No one came in with them, so Amelia pressed the button for level two. The lift doors opened and the whole thing started ascending slowly, the chains holding it rattling.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office." No one had to go out of the lift, but the doors did open to an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. A short, bald wizard almost shuffled in before he saw just who was inside. When Sirius' eyes and his met, the man did a double take. "Er... I'll wait for the next one..."

The doors closed and the lift started up again.

Sirius snorted.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Center." This time, a tall, spindly witch walked in without batting an eye, as did some paper planes. Inter-department memos.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Co -operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." Two men hustled in when the doors opened. Sirius suspected they were going the same way he was.

Two of the memos zoomed out before the doors closed again too.

"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau." The remaining memos left the elevator.

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." Sirius had to force himself not to glare when the doors slid open to reveal none other than Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The plump man, who wore his uniform and a lime-green bowler hat, looked like he was about to choke on something when he recognized the passengers inside.

"Cornelius," Amelia said severely. Sirius could only imagine how her eye looked through that huge monocle of hers, as she frowned at the man. "Shouldn't you already be in the courtroom? You're a witness. Well come on now, get in!"

"Er... yes, quite!" Fudge's bluster was so obviously faked that Sirius had to look away in order to conceal his amusement. Coincidentally, that made his and Moody's eyes meet (such as they were). The long-suffering expression on the grizzled auror almost made him crack. At least it helped him push down the disdain he had for the man who played such a big part in his incarceration.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

This was it.

While the spindly witch and two unknown wizards maintained their cool, Fudge only _barely_ managed not to run as he left the lift and made his way to the side-room that witnesses were supposed to congregate in. Sirius didn't bother restraining his disgusted scoff at the portly wizard. "Cream of the crop that one."

"You're laughing now," Moody grunted as he limped along with the rest. "But plenty of people expect him to become the next Minister for Magic in a couple of years."

"You have _got_ to be joking!" That thought didn't bear contemplation.

Moody didn't seem to care about the heads that turned at the raised voice. "Afraid not, lad. Bagnold has already made it clear she isn't signing on for another term. And with Dumbledore refusing the position and Crouch out of the running because of that mess with his son turning out to be a Death eater back in '81, there aren't many other candidates."

"Dear Merlin," Sirius lamented. "We're doomed, aren't we? Maybe I'll just emigrate to Guyana or someplace. Hey, Amelia, fancy joining me? Hell, you're all invited!"

Amelia bones was too dignified to roll her eyes. Sirius knew that, which is why he was more than satisfied with her barely audible chuckle.

Sadly, the upbeat atmosphere faded the closer they got to the huge double doors that led to the hall which was their destination. They were wide open, and aurors and members of the magical law enforcement patrol were doing their best to keep the crowd outside. There was a line of people on the left, but Sirius didn't pay attention to it. He didn't pay attention to much of anything really, since Amelia was handling their entry. Doing his best to drown out the noise of the crowd, he examined his new surroundings.

The room was immense. Sirius didn't think there was such a hall before his incarceration. It had probably been enlarged just for this special occasion. There was the huge, tridecagonal pyramid on the vaulted ceiling, made of mirrors. It must have been part of the same mechanism as the translucent globe located on the marble pedestal in the center of the chamber. Sirius stared at it intently as he was led through the entrance. It was covered in runes, as was the stand. It was a pensieve shaped like a fishbowl.

He didn't comment on it, because he wasn't supposed to know about them. Yet he'd seen them before. The idea of projecting pensieve memories in the air was an old one, but not a project that got that much funding or researchers, simply because there was no pressing need for it. The Unspeakables must have diverted most of their time to make it work. It was astounding they'd done it on such a scale, and in just two months.

A hand grabbed him by the arm, thought not too roughly. "Over there, Black," Dawlish said.

Sirius looked in the direction he was being pointed. His eyebrows rose in surprise. The accused's chair, which was supposed to be where the pedestal was now, had been moved to the right side of the room. Just next to it was a much more comfortable-looking armchair and a desk with a chrome plate that read "Defense." A silver briefcase was next to the comfy seat, and a kettle of tea was on the desk itself, along with a cup, steaming. Sirius almost asked aloud what it was all about. He hadn't been told he'd have representation!

On the left of the chamber was the press stand, with several rows of benches. It was packed with reporters and photographers. The cameras started flashing as soon as the reporters caught sight of him. The rest of the room, save for the round area where the memory viewing device was installed, had lots of other bench rows, each one higher than the last. The room was a genuine amphitheater. The biggest Sirius had ever been in.

Right across the room from the door was a raised dais on which a resolute desk was located. Amelia broke off from the group to join Millicent Bagnold and Senior Undersecretary Emma Stone as interrogators. The convict would have been surprised at the fact that Dumbledore wasn't part of the prosecution, but he'd been told that Lord Black had made it abundantly clear, in private, that he did _not_ want Dumbledore anywhere near the proceedings except as a witness, citing Conflicts of Interest.

The many benches behind the dais were divided into two main sections. One had about fifty people wearing plum covered robes and an elaborately worked silver W on the left-hand side of the chest. The Wizengamot was in full session. It made Sirius frown minutely. Was this a trial or a Wizengamot gathering?

The other half of the room was for spectators, and it was packed full, unlike the Wizengamot part that was more than half empty. There had to be several hundred people there alone. The whispering, pointing and murmuring mixed with lots of individual conversations, filling the hall with a dull roar.

Finally, the witness stand was to the right of the section that the Wizengamot members had commandeered. Sirius could see Barty Crouch Senior, Dumbledore and Fudge there, on the front row, along with a woman wearing black healers' robes, as well as a man similarly attired. The woman he remembered. It was the one that helped Lily give birth. Sirius had been the first to hold Harry and hand him over to a nearly panicking James, who then gave him to Lily when she was settled well enough to ask for him.

Albus looked his age when he caught his eye. He was too far away, so it was unclear if his eyes had that damnable twinkle or not. The old man didn't know everything that was happening, especially not that people were in the know about Harry's situation. Naturally Dumbledore had come to talk to Amelia when the whole matter reached the press. Amelia had told him point blank that the new Lord Black wanted the Supreme Mugwump to stay out and away from the proceedings because there was enough circumstantial evidence to suggest he could have deliberately sent Sirius to Azkaban despite being innocent, because of whatever interest he had in Harry Potter.

Neither Sirius nor Amelia believed that was the case, and Albus agreed to the conditions without much opposition after he was so bluntly informed of his blame in Sirius spending 7 years in Hell. That was a point for him at least, but Sirius couldn't exactly empathize. Not after he learned that the esteemed headmaster had dumped Harry with those people. Sirius just couldn't fathom the idea that Albus didn't stay informed of the situation, he was too thorough for that, which meant he was passively endorsing the abuse for whatever reason.

A cursory glance revealed the Tonks family (_they _were definitely a surprise) and Michael Joust (a Hit Wizard that was part of the team that was with him in France when the _event _happened). Then he spotted Remus, and he stopped in his tracks. The werewolf spotted him too, and they shared a look. Moony looked better than Sirius feared, which was a relief, but the shame that passed over him for a moment didn't help Sirius' spirits any. "Come on Black," Robards said softly.

Sirius followed and, at long last, fell in the ugly, rigid stone chair... only to be taken aback by the surprisingly high level of comfort. Someone had cast a cushioning charm on it, there was no other explanation, but neither of the Aurors had done it. While their wands were definitely out, they'd not been used at all.

The chains sprung up and manacled his wrists and ankles. Robards and Dawlish went to join the other aurors and law enforcement squad members keeping order, or trying to. It was then that Sirius noticed Moody had not come inside the auditorium. Before he could wonder why, a loud BANG startled the room. Then a second one silenced it and a third finally made people realize that no attack was taking place. It was just Minister Bagnold bringing the chamber to order.

Sirius saw that two men had joined the three women on the dais. One was none other than Bertie Croaker, the leader of the Unspeakables. Unusually, he had his hood down, showing his white hair and wrinkled face. He saw Sirius and winked. Oh, good old Croaker.

The other was a short, thin man. He must have been the scribe. "Very well." Bagnold's voice carried everywhere because of the Sonorus charm. "The accused being present, let us begin." The quiet of everyone else was eerie in such a large room. "Are you ready, court scribe?"

"Yes." An auto-dicta quill sprung to life, and the man made sure to pick up another, in case he needed to make special annotations.

"Preliminary Hearing of the thirtieth of July, 1988 into offenses committed under the Bill of Wizarding Rights and the International Statute of Secrecy by Sirius Orion Black. Interrogators; Millicent Helena Bagnold, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Emma Jane Stone, Senior Undersecretary for the Minister; Court Scribe, Ewan Arnold Lonebridge." She paused and looked at the accused, looking decidedly neutral. Sirius noticed she didn't mention Croaker. "Sirius Orion Black, who shall lead your defense?"

Sirius blinked at being put on the spot like that. There was the desk of the defense and everything... why were the tea set and the briefcase even there if he was going to represent himself?

But before he could open his mouth, a disillusionment fell right next to him and a grey-haired but well-groomed older man appeared in the cozy chair of the solicitor. He wore a perfect business suit, colored white with silver trimming, under a long, midnight-black cloak made of velvet. He pressed a button on the desk and his voice carried everywhere. "Counselor for the Defense, Marius Cygnus Black."

A hush descended over everyone, and Sirius could only stare at the great-uncle he'd almost never seen in person. The disillusionment had been perfect. Wasn't he supposed to be a squib?

Marius Black was amused and clearly pleased by the mixed reactions in the hall. His voice was back to normal. "Worry not, son." Sirius was taken aback by how reassuring the man seemed when he looked at him. "You'll be a free man before the day is out."

He almost dared believe it.

"Very well," the minister interceded. "Then the charges are as follows-"

"Point of order!"

Everyone in the room looked at one Albert Avery as he stood up from his front row seat in the Wizengamot booth.

Millicent was somewhere between bemused and amused. "Point of order, Lord Avery?"

Avery produced his best not-quite-condescending stare. "Yes, point of order. I wish to point out that, under the Bill of Legal Counsel, family members are not allowed as legal representation."

"Hmm," Millicent raised an eyebrow.

"Madam Minister," Marius cut in. "May I speak?"

"Please," she said graciously.

Marius Black did not bother standing up, but he somehow managed to look down on Avery even though the latter was several levels higher. "Am I correct in assuming that a point of order is an objection raised for a perceived fault during the proceedings of a Wizengamot gathering?"

"That is correct," Bagnold answered.

"Then I would ask Lord Avery why he thought he would accomplish anything by it. Not just because the Chief Warlock is not here in his capacity as Chief Warlock," he gestured to Dumbledore in the witness stand. "But, last I heard, this was not a Wizengamot gathering but a very _belated_ legal hearing for my client."

Murmurs swept over the hall. Journalists were frantically taking notes, just like the court scribe.

"Then I am raising it as an objection!" Avery tried again.

"In what capacity?" Marius asked coolly. "You are not here as prosecutor or other type of legal representative, nor are you a witness, who lack the authority to make such objections regardless. You are here at the grace of the court, because it was decided to make this travesty of a legal process public. You have no voice in these proceedings. You are a spectator, nothing more."

The silence that fell after that was so deep that no one would believe there were so many people in that auditorium.

Between being talked back and the fact that the one talking down to him was a squib, Avery's temper began to slip. "How dare you-?"

"Madame Justice!" Marius cut him again, addressing Amelia Bones. Sirius couldn't help but be in awe of his nerve. "Is it the court's policy to allow such unlawful interruptions?"

"No it is not," Amelia Bones rather pointedly looked at the black-haired man.

"And am I correct in assuming that I would have more than enough grounds to claim a mistrial if this goes on much further?"

"You are."

Albert Avery glared but kept silent. The Undersecretary spoke though. "Your warning is noted, but claiming a mistrial would only mean your _client_ would have to return to Azkaban while you try to arrange another hearing."

Avery looked quite smug. Sirius wondered if the woman was in his pocket. Probably not, though he wasn't sure about Lucius'. Though he tried to appear mildly interested, Sirius could tell Lucius would have done something himself. Sirius found himself lamenting the fact that Malfoy had enough political acumen to keep his mouth shut. He'd have loved to see him put in his place by Marius.

"I am afraid you are mistaken," Marius said evenly. "My client was never charged with anything. His file has no accusation documents. Not even his rights were read. There was no trial. Even the arrest was never followed up on. Sirius Orion Black simply found himself in Azkaban, at the Dementors' tender mercies, within a day of being found on Tottenham Court Road. Somehow." The chamber started murmuring again. "So truly, I would not mind a mistrial at all," he taunted, sipping his tea with absolute serenity. "I already have the lawsuit against the Ministry prepared for conspiracy to perform and cover up the kidnapping and imprisonment of my client, the _Heir_ to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!" _That_ definitely started a roar through the hall. "And I will definitely take it up with the ICW if I am not satisfied with how Britain deals with this matter."

Excitement mixed with confusion and the ire of the more stubborn people in the room. Avery sent Marius a look of pure loathing before sitting back on his chair. Lucius was a bit more circumspect, but his dislike was clear as well.

Sirius stared at Marius Black in open-mouthed shock.

And Amelia Bones had to create some blasts with her wand to get order restored. "Order! I will say this only ONCE! Interrupt the proceedings without cause and the Aurors will escort you out!"

"Madame Justice, if I may?" Marius said again. "While Lord Avery was wrong to assume he had a voice in these proceedings, he nonetheless brought up a valid concern. I would just like to alleviate whatever worries may have been raised, even though none of his words are to go on record."

"Please do."

"While it is true that family members are not allowed as legal representatives because of assumed bias, that only goes for everyone up to first cousin. And even if I _were_ more closely related, that particular law would not apply to me." Marius made a dismissing wave at that, as if what he said next was just an unimportant footnote on a boring tome. "After all, I was officially disowned by the House of Black decades ago. Alas."

Scattered laughter pierced the murmuring.

Sirius' mouth snapped shut. The former Hit Wizard wondered if his Uncle Alphard would feel betrayed if he chose Marius Black as his new hero.

Once the court settled, Bagnold pulled out a sheet of parchment. "So then, the charges are as follows: That the accused, Sirius Orion Black knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, joined the ranks of the Death Eaters that followed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; that he engaged in espionage for You-Kow-Who; that he collaborated with the vigilante known as Black Phantom; that he betrayed the location of Lord James Charlus Potter, Lady Lily Elizabeth Potter, and their son Harry James Potter, to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, resulting in the murders of the Lord and Lady; and finally, that he hunted down and killed the Potter family friend and posthumous Order of Merlin holder, Peter Pettigrew, along with 12 muggles."

She paused to allow reporters to take notes, and the dicta quills of the scribe to finish transcribing.

"Sirius Orion Black, how do you plead?"

He'd been prepared for this. That was to say, Marius had just whispered in his ear how to respond. "Not guilty to all but one of the charges."

There was a mixture of disbelieving sputters and angry exclamations from everywhere, but Amelia blasted the court into silence again. "Which charge?"

Marius took over for him. He was clearly enjoying this. Sirius wondered if he felt smug at having his voice broadcasted all over the world via the Wizarding Wireless Network while he verbally kicked the ass of everyone who dared talk back to him. "That would be the one about collaborating with the Black Phantom, though I do have to wonder why you would group it as a crime? The man is a hero."

Milicent had to raise her voice to speak over the muttering crowd, even with the sonorus on. "Among this hearing's purposes is to ascertain whether the one known as Black Phantom was truly a fighter for the light or just a very skilled double agent or spy."

"So it's guilty until proven innocent now?" Sirius' solicitor was not impressed. "Regardless of the outcome of this _hearing_, the fact that Sirius Orion Black spent seven years in hell without being given the chance to defend himself is a crime! I was hoping THAT would have been the _only_ criminally negligent slip-up of this Administration." He let those words hang. "And yet now you brand the wizard YOU all lauded and dubbed the Black Phantom a villain? The only person, besides Albus Dumbledore -and this all is public knowledge- that managed to face the self-styled Lord Voldemort-" there was a general flinch in the room "-alone? And who severely impaired his ability to wage war? Need I go on?"

"Your argument has been noted," Bagnold said, then addressed the scribe. "Remove the charge from the list."

"Yes, Madam Minister." He did so.

Emma Stone spoke up. "Apologies but... I feel I must inform the court that I find the... fervor... behind that argument a bit suspicious. It is almost as if you have taken it personally, Mister Black."

Marius scoffed. "Well you would be outraged too if a person who provided you with evidence got treated this way."

It took a few seconds for his words to register.

Then it was pandemonium. People shouted, some stood up, the journalists in the press section looked like they wanted to jump over each other and run to ask Marius questions. "You've been contacted by the Black Phantom?" "You've been in contact with-" "Is it true he was a Death Eater?" "Is it true he's an Unspeakable?" "Do you know who he is?"

Not just Amelia but Milicent too produced loud blasts with their wands. "Aurors!" Amelia barked. "Feel free to escort out whoever you deem deserving after that display."

A half dozen witches and wizards were bodily removed amidst heavy protests.

"Now," Bagnold said, glaring at everyone left in the press booth. "The questioning may begin."

"Since this is a matter of high security and the defendant is not expected to be forthcoming in his testimony," Amelia picked up, composure totally intact. "The Wizengamot decided in favor of using Veritaserum on the accused."

"Objection!" Marius shouted, standing up and startling Sirius. "When was this decision taken and why was I not summoned to represent the interests of my client, as would have been the _legal_ course of action?"

Millicent answered, looking decidedly apologetic and confused at the same time. "It was during an emergency session called earlier today, and a summons was most definitely sent."

"Well I certainly did not receive it," Marius responded. "And everyone of relevance to this case knew well I was already in the building!" After a while, it was clear no one had anything to say about that. "Who called the emergency session?"

"Lord Lucius Malfoy of the Noble House of Malfoy."

"I see." Marius coolly met the eyes of the platinum blond wizard before facing the three interrogators again. And grinned. "Excellent!" There was an awkward pause. "At least now I don't have to make the request myself! And I don't have to spend an hour demolishing the arguments of whoever would try to suggest Veritaserum is unreliable!"

Sirius could barely keep up with what was happening, but the look on Malfoy's face was priceless.

"However!" Marius shouted. "However. There is still the matter of the decision being taken without my being there. As such, since I was denied the chance to defend my client's rights, I move to be allowed to do so now. I demand the right to Interrogate my client myself."

Millicent, Amelia and Emma made a show of debating the issue amongst themselves behind a sound-dampening spell, but Sirius was fairly certain all of this had somehow been planned from the start. "Request granted," the minister finally said.

Auror Dawlish broke off from the rest and approached Sirius' chair. He pulled a vial of clear liquid from a pocket in his robes.

"Hold," Marius said, again standing. "Who brewed the serum?"

"Um... not sure. This came from the Auror stores."

"Hmmm," Marius scratched his clean-shaven chin. "Then I won't consent to its use on my client until it is tested in my presence, or examined by a potions expert of my choosing."

"Mister Black, I assure you it is the genuine article," Amelia Bones spoke from across the room.

"Yes, just as the whole Wizarding World was _assured_ my client betrayed those he called family to _murder_!"

Sirius was taken aback by how _biting _Marius Black made that remark. This wasn't just a ploy, not just an act. The man was well and truly _outraged_ on his behalf. He could only wonder _why._ Marius Black was basically a stranger to him.

In the tense silence that followed that statement, Dawlish raised his hand as though he were still in school. "I'll do it." Amelia and Marius both snapped out of their staredown to look at him. "As long as it's in a privacy bubble."

"Well, if you're certain..." Bagnold acquiesced.

Over the next few minutes, Sirius watched the three interrogators, Marius (who'd divested himself of his cloak and was all white now, even his dress shoes) and Dawlish speak amongst themselves without anyone hearing what they were doing. Amelia administered three drops of the serum to the Auror and asked a question, then let Millicent and Marius do the same. Then they gave him the antidote and took down the sound barrier.

Marius strode back to his seat in a rather solemn fashion. Sirius wondered if he was laying it so thick on purpose, and if all solicitors were the same. The man didn't sit down. Instead, he drained the last of the tea in his cup and walked around, behind the accused's chair, until he was standing on Sirius' right. "How are you feeling, son?"

Sirius looked at him like he was mad to ask. "Confused? Awestruck? Gobsmacked?" Seriously, what kind of question was that after... after... "Absolutely flabbergasted? Take your pick...uh... great-uncle..." He finished rather lamely and he knew it.

"That's alright," Marius softly pat him on the shoulder, but his good cheer vanished. "I'm sorry we didn't do this sooner."

"We?"

Before anyone could answer, Amelia cleared her throat to get the hall to quiet down. "Auror, administer the serum now."

Sirius obligingly opened his mouth and tipped his head backwards. Dawlish let three drops of the potion fall before stepping away.

A haze descended over Sirius' awareness. He felt it was fine to answer truthfully to any question people might ask. It was a strange feeling, like everything was fine but not worth reacting to in any other fashion. In theory, an Occlumens could convince himself something was true, in which case the serum could be fooled, but Sirius didn't need to bother.

Marius stepped in front of his chair but somewhat to the side, so that everyone had a clear view of him. "What is your full name?"

"Sirius Orion Black."

"What is your age?"

"29."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No.

"Were you ever?"

"No."

"Aurors, please pull both of my client's sleeves up to elbow-level. Feel free to cast whatever glamour-revealing charms you wish." Dawlish and Robards did so, revealing smooth, unmarked skin. After each cast half a dozen spells, nothing changed. No dark marks on either forearm. "You really have to wonder why no one bothered checking for the Dark Mark back in '81." He shook his head and addressed Sirius again. "Is it true that the Potters went into hiding a little over one year before that fateful night of All Hallows' Eve, 1981?"

"Yes."

"Did they use the Fidelius Charm from the beginning?"

"No."

"But they did use it at some point?"

"Yes."

Marius picked up some papers he'd spread on his desk. "The Fidelius Charm hides the secret of a location inside the soul of a single person. Once the spell is cast, the knowledge of the location disappears from everyone in the world, and no one can come upon the place, not even by accident, unless the Secret Keeper _willingly_ discloses the location, either through verbal transmission or a written note. To the best of your knowledge, is this an accurate description?"

"Yes."

"According to my findings, the Fidelius Charm was cast on October 25, 1981. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Who cast it? Full name please."

"Lily Elizabeth Potter nee Evans."

"And who was present when it happened?"

"Me, James, Lily and Peter."

"Peter? As in Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

Marius smirked. "What was his role?"

"To become the Secret Keeper."

Absolute silence filled the auditorium.

"Did he become Secret Keeper?"

"Yes."

Cries of disbelief and shock erupted and collided with each other. A good portion of the people in the hall were on their feet, others were sitting down, motionless. The press was having a field day, eager to spin the story in a way that would draw the most readers, while others were horrified of the injustice that they were witnessing.

This time, Amelia, Millicent _and_ two aurors sent sparks and made loud bangs with their wands. "Order!" Amelia yelled, glaring at everyone. "Order or this trial will adjourn and resume at a later date, without public access!"

That got everyone to quiet down soon enough.

"So you were never the secret keeper then?"

"No." Sirius would have shouted the answer. Yelled from the rooftops, but the Veritaserum kept him detached from all feeling.

Marius nodded in satisfaction and looked up at the so-called interrogators. "Madam Justice, in light of this, and because it is tedious to only get short and concise answers, I move to have the rest of his testimony be done without the effects of veritaserum. My client will provide the rest of his testimony under the same conditions as the rest of the witnesses that have yet to be called."

The three women again made a show of debating the matter before agreeing. "Very well," Amelia said. "Aurors, apply the antidote and cast Veritus Repperio on the defendant."

Veritus Repperio was a spell that caused people to glow red when they were being untruthful. It was automatically applied to everyone seated in the witness booth, but not on the accused, who were usually considered hostile witnesses and normally needed veritaserum or lots of dementor exposure to loosen their tongues.

After Dawlish cast the spell on him (which felt like ants crawled around his chest, forehead and navel for a few moments), Marius addressed him again. "Answer falsely my next question. What is your name?"

"Bob the Wizard." Sirius glowed red amidst chuckles.

"Now the truth."

"Sirius Orion Black."

"Okay," Marius leaned against the defense desk. "So explain to the court why everyone came to believe you were the secret keeper of the Potters."

"James wanted me to be the secret keeper." Now the Occlumency really started to be used. "I was more than willing, but I thought it was too risky. The previous year I was specifically targeted as a means to find James and Lily. And Harry. I almost got captured by Death Eaters, and I didn't want the secret to be in danger in case they tried again and succeeded. So I suggested they use Peter, but told everyone it was me in order to throw people off. No one would suspect Peter, I said. I suppose that the implication he was weaker than the rest of us helped him turn in the end."

"Pardon," Marius interrupted him. "The incident you are referring to, would it be the one that marked the first public appearance of the, at the time unnamed, Black Phantom? And the immediate... disappearance of Lord Potter, his wife and his son?"

"Yes. I actually got the idea to act as a decoy from him." He smiled sadly in remembrance. "The guy pretended to kidnap James and Lily just so Voldemort wasted resources, time and neurons on trying to find and torture the information out of him. Instead, James and Lily took Harry to Girffon's Eye and lived in relative security while I pretended to be obliviated after being 'found' in a ditch across the country. It worked beautifully for a whole year."

"No need to go further." Marius waved, smiling himself. "The story will be revealed when we view the memories you and the Black Phantom provided us with. What I am more interested in is why none of your close friends and acquaintances knew of the secret keeper switch."

Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Deciding against exposing the Order of the Phoenix, he chose a different truth. "We had strong reason to believe there was a spy in the Marauders."

"Marauders?"

"School joke," Sirius shrugged, rattling the chains. "James, Peter, myself and Remus Lupin were rather famous pranksters during our Hogwarts years. We called ourselves the Marauders. We saw each other like brothers. I guess that's why it was so hard to believe either one of us could be a spy for Voldemort." Sirius didn't care about the reactions caused by speaking the name. He was far away, in more than one way. "But in the year after Harry was born... there were too many signs that said one of us must have been a spy. In my hypocrisy, I suspected Remus, because he was a werewolf. Which is why I convinced James not to tell him about the switch right away. Remus was abroad at the time of the casting, so it worked fine. As for everyone else... I suppose we didn't get around to it. Voldemort came and... and killed James and Lily less than a week after the Fidelius was cast... It all came so fast..."

Marius was pacing in front of the accused' chair, not that Sirius could register it. "What happened that night?"

The voice was just soothing enough to get him to speak again. "I was in France, just across the channel. My team and I-"

"Team?"

"Hit Wizards," Sirius explained. "We were following an anonymous tip from our contact in the French ministry. We came upon a Death Eater attack in progress and worked in tandem with French Auror forces to stop the raid. Even captured a few... But I almost died because mid-way through the operation I felt... I felt James die and got distracted, getting hit by a reductor, right in my chest."

That brought all quills to a stop. No red light meant he was telling the truth.

"You 'felt' James Potter die?" Bagnold asked.

Sirius nodded slowly. "I didn't even know family magic worked that way."

"Wait, family magic?" Amelia intervened. She seemed genuinely surprised at the revelation. "But that would mean..."

"That I am subject to the family magic of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter?" Sirius knew his tone was a bit snide, but he didn't care. "Does it sound so impossible? I was offered sanctuary with House Potter when I was sixteen! I was adopted in the house when I finished my final year at Hogwarts. Too bad no one _bothered_ checking the official records! It's not like it was a secret! Old man Charlus even got grandfather Arcturus to agree somehow. I don't know how, so don't ask."

"I.. I see," Bagnold said, sounding faint.

Sirius sighed and sagged in his chair, but squared his shoulders soon enough. "My apologies. It is a sensitive subject for me."

Marius got things back on track. "So after the raid, what happened?"

"As soon as I was well enough, which took precious hours, I passed responsibility on to Michael Joust, since I was leader." He gestured in the direction of the witness stand. "He's right over there. As against procedure as it was -and I suppose that contributed to my expedited imprisonment- I told him to take care of the rest and apparated straight to Godric's Hollow."

"From across the sea?"

"I didn't care about the distance, or the sea at the time. I just had to get there, and what I found..."

"That's okay," Marius stopped him. "We'll see it in the memories."

Sirius blinked. "But I didn't-"

"Not yours."

That shut him up. Then his eyes widened. "You mean the Black Phantom was there?"

Marius nodded, fully aware of how riveted everyone's attention was on them. "I believe he reached the house a short time after you disapparated. In pursuit, I assume, of Peter Pettigrew."

"Yes, I went after Peter." Sirius didn't even try to conceal the hatred he had for the rat. "I checked his house, but he wasn't there, so I started checking everywhere I knew he hung out, and places I knew he didn't because I couldn't just sit tight and do nothing. I found him late the next day, in a muggle restaurant. He tried to run, but I followed him, and when he saw he couldn't get away, he lured me into a crowded street, shouted for everyone to hear that I betrayed James and Lily, then cut off his finger and blew up the street, killing all those people. I think he hit a gas line. The crater wouldn't have been so large otherwise."

"And then you killed him?"

Sirius shook his head. "No." and he didn't even hide his disappointment. "He turned into his animagus form -a rat, unregistered- and escaped through the sewers."

"And what do you remember after that?"

"I... not much. I think I went into shock. The explosion knocked me around, maybe I even got concussed. And the blood of those people... parts of them fell on me... and the blood was suddenly James' and Lily's and I could only think that my idea to switch secret keepers got them killed..." He shuddered and shook himself. There weren't Dementors here, as healer Ted would say. _There are no Dementors here_. "I honestly don't know what else happened. I just, vaguely, remember being grabbed... then waking up in Azkaban. After that I just focused on the thought I was innocent, to at least keep my sanity because I'd lost everything else..."

"And the Dementors couldn't take it away? Wasn't it a happy thought?"

"No," Sirius growled. "The thought was that I was innocent but somehow _still _ended up in that hell, and no one bothered getting my side of the story. Not even the great Chief Warlock placed inquiries, even though he'd have easily been able to force a trial, no matter _what _ Bagnold or Crouch said." Sirius sought Dumbledore's gaze, and when he found it he only got angrier. _Now_ the man felt remorse. "He didn't even come to tell me how disappointed he was. He was too busy -and I only learned of this last month- dumping my godson on a muggle doorstep in the middle of a chilly autumn night."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed in brief panic, but Sirius suddenly didn't care. So when Marius asked. "What godson?"

He answered clearly. "Harry Potter." It was eerie how many gasps of shock could be heard that day. Sirius kept looking at the old Headmaster as he spoke. "Even now I believe that if Dumbledore hadn't sent Hagrid to take Harry away on the day after that Halloween, I'd have taken him and not gone after Peter, and none of this would have happened. When I got there, almost a day after the murder, Hagrid had just beaten me to Harry, but how do you argue with a man his size when all he can say 'It's Dumbledore's Orders! Dumbledore's Orders!' He already had Harry, so I couldn't just shoot spells at him. And in my grief I wanted revenge, so I gave into the impulse to go on the hunt. I gave Hagrid my flying motorcycle and went on my way. The idea was that I'd retrieve Harry a few days later... but I suppose we don't always get what we want."

Not long after he finished talking, it became clear that the bomb he'd dropped about the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't going to allow for the trial to progress further, not in that chaos, so Minister Bagnold called a 15 minute recess.

"-. .-"

Though he was allowed to drink some tea, Sirius wasn't permitted to move from his chair during the recess, and most people didn't leave their posts either. Curiously, no one from the witness booth stepped out, though Dumbledore had to endure some rather pointed questions from the few journalists that did sneak over to demand answers. Millicent and Amelia did eventually have the reporters chased off, but it seemed to Sirius they took their time "conferring" with Marius before they did that.

When the recess was called to an end, everyone scurried back to where they were supposed to be. Sirius half-expected Avery or others from the Death Eater contingent to quietly leave, but that didn't happen. They must have been as eager to watch the memory projection as everyone else was.

Marius didn't hurry to grant their wish though. "Next I would like to interrogate the other witnesses. Free format if permitted."

"You have the witnesses, mister Black."

Sirius watched as Marius Black approached the witness booth. The man in white paced a couple of times, as if trying to decide who and what to ask first. Sirius almost believed it was real indecision. Almost.

"Mister Remus Lupin. Can you corroborate my client's testimony? At least the parts you knew of or were present for."

Sirius made sure to look intently at Remus, though the latter didn't see. "Yes."

"And yet you believed him to be the traitor."

Remus seemed to diminish. "Yes, I did."

"Was it only because of the secret keeper switch? Or was it something more?"

"More." Remus crossed his arms and looked at a random spot ahead of him. "Since all four of us knew there was a spy in our midst, I suspected Sirius. I suppose that just like he suspected me for being a werewolf... I suspected him because of how his cousins and brother turned out. Basically because he was a Black." He grimaced, remembering who he was talking to. "No offense."

Sirius felt horrible, but he figured he deserved no better. He suspected Remus for an equally asinine reason.

Marius continued. He asked Joust what he thought of Sirius' conduct, to which the man responded that he was a good leader and that it was odd that he made that mistake during that operation. Joust admitted he considered the possibility of Sirius trying to throw the mission, but he also said it doesn't make sense because they'd already gained the definite upper hand when Sirius faltered.

Ted and Andromeda Tonks were asked about Sirius' character (good guy, deliberately immature when the situation needs lightening up, completely devoted to his friends, ready to die for them if need be). The healer that helped Lily give birth only had good things to say about Sirius' conduct during her labor (Lily had _demanded_ that he be allowed in the room because she didn't trust James not to pass out from panic without Sirius to distract him).

Then Marius made a trip to his desk, opened his briefcase, took a folder and rounded on Crouch. A stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp black suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule. His shoes were probably very highly polished. Sirius still thought Marius looked better, but he supposed he was biased. "Mister Bathermius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Is it true you were the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time of my client's unlawful imprisonment."

"Whether or not it was unlawful has yet to be ruled upon," Crouch said shortly. "But to answer your question, yes."

"Actually, imprisonment without charges being filed _is_ unlawful," Marius shot back. "But in the interests of avoiding a lengthy debate, I shall set the subject aside for now. So tell the court, mister Crouch, why did you see fit to toss my client in Azkaban without due process?"

Crouch scowled at Marius' behavior but answered. "He-Who-Must-not-be-Named had just fallen. People had taken to the streets. It was the largest breach of the statute of secrecy of the past few decades. We were stretched thin trying to make sure Death Eaters didn't panic and strike out at everyone who was celebrating. When we received the reports about the Potters and Black, and with they themselves making sure _everyone_ knew Black was the secret keeper, everything seemed to fit."

"What reports? According to the dossier I retrieved from the hall of records, there was just the short report made by the Hit Wizards and the statement taken from Mister Cornelius Fudge here. The Hit Wizard report is the standard type, for forensics purposes, and has only dry yet ambivalent assessments. Yes, there is an Auror report as well, but it is very short, since as you said they were stretched thin at the time. Oddly, the Hit Wizards were dispatched without the obligatory Auror leader, and when a suitable person finally arrived on the scene, the witnesses had already been mostly obliviated. Those that weren't didn't have anything useful to say. That means you used Cornelius Fudge's statement as the _only_ piece of actual evidence."

Crouch was making a perfect impression of a person suffocating. "Don't think you can pass judgment! I doubt you even were affected by the war going on at the time. No one outside the Auror department really knew how things were then! By that point, little mattered more than getting Death Eaters behind bars or six feet under. No one had a free hour, all that we knew was the next assignment."

"And yet you never looked back. Even if you did, preliminarily, store my client in that hellhole, despite there being enough ministry cells for it, you couldn't be bothered to go back to his file and give him his due process a week or two after things settled down? Why didn't you even bother?"

Crouch looked away. "Other things happened."

"Yes," Marius said mercilessly. "The attack on the Longbottoms by Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange and a certain Barthemius Crouch Junior. The outing of your son as a Death Eater. Did it teach you nothing?"

"How dare you!"

Marius glared at him. "If you were so horribly wrong about _him_, you didn't even think to consider that you may have been wrong about other things as well?" Marius paused and stared at the man as though he was some sort of weird animal. "You didn't even _bother_ pressing actual charges on paper, or reading my client his rights? He should have been sent to St. Mungos and treated, _then_ read his rights and questioned! A calming draught would have fixed everything. There would not even have been a trial! Hardly any extra work on your part. This would not even have _been_ a choice between what is right and what is easy!"

Sirius clearly saw Albus Dumbledore shut his eyes as thought he'd felt something painful.

"But since hindsight is always 20/20, let's ask those that _did _choose what was easy over what was right." Marius spun on his heel and stopped, the sole of his shoe clapping against the stone floor. "Cornelius Fudge, you say here, in your statement, that you arrived on the scene and found Sirius Black laughing maniacally in front of the crater, with bodies strewn all around him. Then you called for a team of Hit Wizards and, once they arrived, told them of it and set about erasing the memory of the muggles that were still around." Marius stooped and looked at the portly man for a long moment. "Now, maybe I am mistaken, but aren't operatives from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes instructed in proper criminal procedure?"

"Now see here! Of course they are!" Fudge blustered. "I'm not sure I appreciate your insinuations!"

"You don't say," Marius drawled. "Then perhaps you can explain why you miraculously forgot the difference between Aurors and Hit Wizards."

Fudge blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Allow me to explain for the benefit of our audience!" Sirius couldn't help but feel awed at how totally enraptured the public was. He wondered if Marius was feeling underwhelmed by not having an actual, solicitor opponent to have battles of wit against. "Aurors are our Special Services division, trained extensively in ways to apprehend dark wizards, and taught how to carry out investigations, all the while avoiding the breaking of the statute of secrecy." He turned to look at Fudge again. "Hit Wizards, on the other hand, have a shorter training cycle because they are more of a strike team, a necessity during times of war, with little emphasis on forensics and surveillance, or stealth. That is why only _Aurors _may carry an Investigation. Why only _Aurors_ can actually make arrests and accurately judge a situation like the one you encountered that day. So tell me, mister Fudge... _why_ did you obliviate most of the muggle witnesses before one of the Aurors on duty apparated on the scene?"

Fudge opened his mouth and closed it, then repeated the motion several times, never actually coming up with an answer.

"But let's assume you were shaken by the experience, so shaken that you forgot procedure... Let us set aside how you _somehow_ maintained the mental acuity to cast two dozen memory charms _perfectly_ in the span of ten minutes, in spite of being so _shaken_..." Marius stopped as though he only just realized what he said. "No, actually, let's not assume that... Never mind, this really doesn't make any sense to me."

Sirius's shoulders shook as he did his best to hide how hilarious he found everything to be. How hilarious it was to see the impeccably-groomed lawyer shake his head in bemusement.

"And finally," Marius pronounced ominously, turning to stare at the old headmaster. "Mister Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Sirius wanted to warn him not to hold his gaze, that the man was a Legilimens and could read everything about him, and even implant suggestions...

But Marius instantly turned away and began pacing. "You are the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and held that position at the time when this all happened. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"So you _could_ have made sure my client, with whom you were regularly in contact, could have escaped having his rights so thoroughly trampled."

Dumbledore sighed. "In theory, and if I had been informed of the situaton, yes."

Marius stopped but didn't look at the old man. "Why didn't you?"

"I suppose it was because I was convinced by the evidence... just as Crouch and minister Bagnold were."

"What _evidence_?" Marius snapped. "We just established there was none, except lots of circumstantial conjecture. Did you even look over it?"

"I fear you must have formed a flawed opinion of a Chief Warlock's duties. While I do hold the post of grand judge, I do not actually spend all my time combing through all arrest reports. That is the job of the DMLE."

Marius scoffed. "Your attempt at sounding patronizing is noted, but unnecessary. You just admitted you had a relationship of acquaintance, if not friendship, with my client. That alone removes any excuse you might have had to not even bother checking to see if this administration did right by him. Do you deny it?"

Dumbledore hesitated. Sirius thought he must have remembered that he was under Veritus Repperio. "No."

"So I ask again. Why didn't you even bother?"

"I assure you it was not because I was lazy." Dumbledore somehow managed to sound calm. "It was just that so many things were happening at the time."

"Yes, let's talk about those things." Marius strode to the desk of the defense again, removed yet _another_ folder from his briefcase and made his way back to the witness booth. "You are the one that reported the deaths of the Potters and the vanquishing of Voldemort to the Aurors, were you not?"

"That is true."

"When did you learn of the event?"

"Almost as soon as it happened. With James and Lily's permission, I'd set some alarm charms in place. Alas, I was too late to prevent their deaths. By the time I arrived, Voldemort had already been vanquished by their baby boy."

"Hmm..." Marius kept his nose in the file. "And _strangely_... it says here that while you notified the aurors immediately, their intervention did not come until the evening of the following _day_." A wave of murmurs swept over the now silent gathering. "It says here that James and Lily Potter had been left in the states Voldemort had left them in... for a whole _day_..."

"That is because the Fidelius hadn't yet fallen, and I was not the secret keeper. The charm only collapsed the evening of November 1st. I notified the aurors of that occurrence as well."

"And that's just the thing," Marius tapped the papers against each other. "Since Pettigrew or Black was the secret keeper, and neither was dead, you could not have passed on the secret unless the keeper died, thus turning all those who know the secret into secret keepers. Yet the confrontation between my client and Peter Pettigrew did not take place until the night of November 1st. _After_ the charm fell. Which means the secret became invalid when your envoy, Hagrid, took young Harry James Potter away. Illegally, I might add. It was basically kidnapping of the Heir to a Noble and Ancient House." Marius risked a glance at Dumbledore, but switched to a casual study of the rest of the chamber. "I would ask why in the world you left a 15 month-old baby in that smoking, blasted open house for a whole day, near the lifeless body of his mother. I would ask what you did with him that was so important that you needed the concealment of a Fidelius to carry it out. Sadly, this is not your trial, so I would be out of bounds interrogating you on that."

Dumbledore hid his relief. He hid it, but Sirius still saw it.

"That said, I still have to ask... You said that you didn't catch on to the injustice being inflicted on my client because, and I quote, 'It was just that so many things were happening at the time.' Would those things be... casting illegal blood wards on Harry James Potter and dumping him on a muggle doorstep in chilly November?" This time, it wasn't just a murmur. "Would those _things_ be leaving him in a basket on the porch, in the middle of the night, and disapparating before the wards took hold? Leaving him completely vulnerable for _hours_?"

Dumbledore frowned and refused to answer. "I believe it is you that said I was not the one being tried. I dare say you are reneging on that acknowledgement, so forgive me if I point out your behavior paints you as rather... hypocritical." The murmurs grew louder before settling again. "Should the courts see it fit to charge me with anything, I will, of course, answer all question. However, I will not be harassed without, how did you call it? Due process I believe the phrase was"

Marius shook his head. "Sadly, mister Dumbledore, your attempts at outmaneuvering a lawyer are misplaced, because I _am _fully in the rights to ask you those things. Because Harry Potter is my client's godson. Because the Will of James and Lily Potter clearly named him guardian before you sealed it for whatever reason."

Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat. "The will was sealed for the boy's safety. That has always been my concern. If I didn't, and it came out that all those named in the will were unavailable or unsuitable, the ensuing custody battle was likely to land the boy in the hands of someone more interested in using his status as the Boy-Who-Lived than raising him properly."

"That argument would have worked only if the Longbottoms were already incapacitated at the time!" Marius actually raised his voice. "Which they were not! And even _then_, Andromeda and ted Tonks would have been more than suitable! Minerva McGonagall would have been more than suitable! They are here today! At this point, I am wondering if you should be included in the category of people you said you wanted to protect Harry Potter from. It is ironic that if you hadn't sealed the will, you wouldn't have had to land in this situation at all!"

Albus was given pause. "I do not understand what you mean by that last statement. "

Marius scoffed. "Simple! This isn't just about the fact that because you sent your strongman Hagrid to take away Harry Potter, you indirectly deprived my client of the sure thing that would have prevented this disaster from happening. This isn't just about how ridiculous it is for you to claim you were always concerned about Harry Potter's safety but couldn't be bothered to move him from his wrecked house and his parents' bodies. That you couldn't be bothered to do anything about the bodies of his Parents, or to ensure his _godfather_'s rights were defended! This isn't even about you circumventing the system and thinking it was a good idea to have someone who was expelled from Hogwarts and banned from using magic retrieve this world's greatest natural treasure!"

Everyone was on the edge of their seats.

"This is about the fact that the reason this hearing is happening is because the new Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black found out what kind of home you left the Boy-Who-Lived with!" Dumbledore paled. "The kind of home you _knowingly_ placed him in, and kept him in. Lord Black started all this because while he was appalled at the treatment he received, and is fully willing to kidnap him if things get any worse, he wanted to remove the boy from there legally. Imagine his surprise when he learned the Heir of his House was sent to Azkaban without a trial. And that he was the godfather and the one named as guardian of Harry Potter in his parents' will. Add to that that Harry's grandmother was Dorea _Black_ before she became Potter." Marius let his disdain show. "My _sister_ if you recall." Half the people in the hall gasped. "Harry is a member of the House of Black by virtue of that alone." The solicitor snapped the folder shut. "The only reason Lord Black hasn't sued you yet is because you weren't named as witness in the will and he is still debating whether or not he should go for more than criminal negligence."

Dumbledore said nothing but seemed to become older with each word.

Marius finally looked him right in the eye. "You always talk about redemption and how everyone deserves a second chance. You were so incredibly quick to vouch for Severus Snape, a _marked_ Death Eater. And you couldn't be _bothered_ to say two words about my client, with whom you've had at least as much contact? How is it that _everyone_ deserved a second chance except him?" Marius whirled around and walked to his desk. "If we meet again in court, I'll make sure to ask if Sirius Black was too much of a nuisance or just wasn't useful _enough_ for you to bother. For now, no further questions."

Bagnold, Amelia and Emma Stone were forced to call for another 15-minute recess when they saw the hall was about to go crazy again.


	9. Chapter 8: Unconventional Testimony

**Chapter 8: Unconventional Testimony**

"-. .-"

Sirius was surprised that the second recess was going to be as short as the first, but when he saw how wound up everyone who had left their spots was getting (especially the reporters that had swarmed the witness booth), he understood the logic behind it: any longer than 15 minutes and the crowd would degenerate into a frenzy whose momentum would not be possible to break.

The chained wizard half-expected the public to be angry at them for bashing the Ministry and Dumbledore like that. Instead what happened was that Marius was revealed to have accomplished precisely what he'd set out to do: completely upturn public opinion so thoroughly that instead of a crazy Death Eater and Voldemort's right hand man, Sirius was now a tragic figure, a strong wizard that defeated the hellish Prison of Azkaban, and a brave, sensitive, _victim_ of prejudice...

Sirius spotted more than one elderly woman, and even a couple of men, shedding tears for his sake in the stands. And that one, old lady wailing as though she was attending a wedding was astonishing to behold.

Marius had really toppled a boiling kettle when he berated Dumbledore so publicly. Then again, Sirius mused, he himself had been the first to drop the bomb. He wondered why he wasn't feeling guilty for having essentially turned on his former leader... but then he remembered that Dumbledore had abandoned him to the wolves _first,_ because he was too busy planning the life of his godson, even though he must have known what he was sentencing him to.

It was too bad for the old wizard that he'd committed the _one_ thing that Sirius considered taboo. Anything else, even his imprisonment in that hellhole, he might have been able to forgive. And that went for the rest of Wizarding Britain too: Harry Potter was the one figure more popular and loved than the old man. It pained Sirius that Marius was actually exploiting his godson and the hideous life he had, but he could admit that if it wasn't for that they could not have afforded to be so bold.

The wizard was going to try and talk to Marius, but several reporters made their way over. Robards and Dawlish placed themselves between the vultures and the two of them, but the authority of the Red Robes was limited. They were just two Aurors against a mini-mob. Eventually, one woman slipped through. She was tall and lean, with bleached blond hair, blue eyes and a pair of glasses with wide, tipped frames colored reddish brown. She was holding the longest, white and grey-striped quill Sirius had ever seen, and wore a luscious suit, teal blue in color. As soon as she was in front of him, the parchment in her other hand flew in the air and stayed suspended next to the woman, and the quill took on a life of its own.

"Mister Black!" She said with such contrived candor that Sirius felt his skin crawl. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet." She took a significant look at his chained hands and let him see she had reconsidered offering her hand. "How do you feel about-"

"Miss Skeeter, such a surprise!" Marius cut it. Sirius didn't know _how_ he'd extricated himself from the other reporters and just popped up like that. His joviality was as fake as the woman's, but somehow it made the chained man feel a surge of relief instead of dread. "Quite the excited quill you have there."

It was true. The damn thing was scribbling away even though Sirius hadn't said anything. And Rita hadn't gotten around to asking any questions for that matter. "Top of the line, Mister er- Black."

"I'm sure it is," Marius said seriously. "But there's the funny thing... Quick quote quills have been banned from this hall for the duration of these proceedings. Only dicta-quills can be employed, by decree of the Ministry of Magic. I thought the Prophet had received the memo."

Skeeter's answering laugh was only barely nervous. "Now, Mister Black, I assure you this is not-"

Marius' expression went frigid so fast that Rita took a step back. "_Don't_ insult my intelligence." Then it dissipated so quickly that both her and Sirius wondered if they'd just imagined it. "Besides, it doesn't go with the colors of your wardrobe. And your glasses. I admit, I like the style. They definitely fit the _beetle_ theme." Rita's plastered smile suddenly lost its glow. "But I'm confused by the color. Reddish brown... shouldn't it be navy blue?" The woman paled and couldn't find words. Marius, of course, pressed his advantage. There was an advantage there, Sirius was sure, even though he had no idea what the old man was talking about. "It would go so much better with your teal suit too."

Rita mouthed something several times, suddenly lost for words. And she was quite worried.

"Ma'am," Auror Robards had come up behind her. "You're not supposed to be here. Please return to your appointed seat."

"Now now, Auror..." She glanced at his name tag. "Robards. There's no need to get hasty. I am here merely to secure a few facts. The public deserves to know everything we, the press, the fourth power of the government, can bring to light. Surely you can sympathize."

Dawlish was equally unimpressed with her simpering. "We can escort you at wand point if you wish, ma'am."

"Splendid!" Marius exclaimed. His hands moved, quite fast too, and the parchment and quill weren't in the air anymore. Marius was holding them between his index and middle fingers, right above his left shoulder. "I'm sure there are still some dicta-quills at the entrance booth, since it seems you unfortunately mistook a triple-Q for your own." Then, much to the woman's shock (and Sirius' for that matter), both the utensil and the parchment burst into flames for no apparent reason. No wand had been pointed at them, or even moved.

Rita gasped, her face a perfectly appropriate combination of surprise and distress at having her property ruined (or her poison-pen notes, more like).

Marius's pleasant demeanor stayed as the fire ate through the items, turning them to ash but somehow avoiding contact with his fingers. "There, now you don't have to worry about the two gentlemen aurors here mistaking that for a quick quotes quill and, by extension, your actions as a deliberate breach of Ministry rules, thus demanding your evacuation from this hall." He flicked his fingers, allowing the last piece of paper to float away and disintegrate into tiny, black specks. Then inclined his head, a clear but completely polite (barely) dismissal. "You're welcome."

The blonde was clearly put off with being blown off in that manner, but Sirius somehow felt he shouldn't worry about her using her poison pen against himself or his solicitor. "I admit, this must have been one occasion where haste worked against me." She laughed, hiding all traces of nervousness. "Thank you for the suggestion and help, Mister Black. I'll be looking forward to our interview!" And she turned around and left, before anyone could point out they had not, in fact, agreed to an interview with her.

"What was _that_ all about?" Sirius muttered once she was far enough away.

Marius' rumbling chuckle was as reassuring as his first sentence to him had been. "That, son, was the dark side of the mass media."

"And the part about her glasses and beetles?" There must have been _something_ important about that.

Marius leaned in to whisper conspiratorially and hid his mouth from the rest of the room with the back of his hand. "Miss Skeeter is _very_ good at getting the best scoops because she is an unregistered, blue beetle animagus."

Sirius blinked. Then a grin made its way to his face. "That explains things..." It figured the lawyer would hold that over her head. He laughed then. It was a weak attempt, but it felt like a knot was unraveling in his chest. He didn't think he'd have a reason to do that so soon. "How do you know?"

Marius smirked and let his eyes roam the auditorium. "Lord Black told me." He gazed at Sirius again. It was a tender, almost paternal thing that Sirius didn't know how to feel about. "And _he_ learned it from his lawyer apparently."

The wizard snorted. "Figures. You lawyers are a piece of work... honestly. I mean..." He gestured weakly, not knowing _how_ or _why_ he was indicating the whole chamber, still in an uproar even though the recess was almost over. "Do you guys do... _this_ on a regular basis?"

Marius sighed, his entire demeanor transmitting his disappointment at _not_ having the chance to rip into the whole world all the time. "We only _wish_."

BANG!

Sirius managed not to jump or otherwise react in an undignified fashion, but it was a close thing. He silently approved of his great-uncle for his iron-cast composure.

Amelia Susan Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had to produce seven blasts with her wand before people _finally_ scurried back to their seats. The furor in the chamber died down, little by little, until some semblance of calm descended again. "The hearing is now back in session!" The severe witch waited half a minute for everyone to settle.

"We have heard the testimonies from the main witnesses," Minister Bagnold enunciated, the _sonorus_ loud and clear. "Defense counselor! Is there anything you would like to do before the viewing of the memories?"

Marius had retaken his seat and was the picture of absolute calm. "Not at this time. However, because the events might bring up strong feelings, the Defense reserves the right to pause the viewing at any time."

Bagnold nodded stiffly. "Very well. Croaker, Head of the Department of Mysteries, has the floor."

The aged wizard, who had been sitting in a chair at the same desk as the Minister, the DMLE head and the Undersecretary, stood and unraveled a scroll of parchment. He was one of the few Unspeakables that walked in public without their hood and illusion shroud on, because as far as the Wizarding World knew, he was a metamorphmagus whose actual identity and appearance was completely different.

Sirius, of course, knew that was not true. That was really what Croaker looked like, and he had no better ability to change his appearance than any other witch or wizard who knew glamour charms, but the misinformation was very convenient.

Today, the prematurely aging older man was in a much better mood than usual. Like he was excited about what was going to happen, even more than everyone else. Like he knew a secret few others did. Opening the roll of parchment all the way, he shot Sirius a subtle grin and began reading, somehow leaving his grin out of his voice despite it not leaving his face. "This marks the first public use of the Grand Memory Projector, or GMP for short."

Lots of people seemed disgruntled that they had to listen through an introduction before the main show, but they held their tongues.

Croaker, of course, stretched the dramatic pause. Sirius wondered if he wasn't perhaps enjoying himself _too_ much. Maybe he was pissed at the Wizarding world too and was subtly taking revenge and enjoying it? "Multiple memories have been submitted as evidence, from both Sirius Orion Black and, the wizard commonly known as Black Phantom. Amelia Bones drew the memories of the former, while I, Croaker, was allowed to draw them from the latter." There was a wave of surprise at that statement. Sirius was sure he heard someone ask if Black Phantom was a agent of the DOM, or an associate. Croaker ignored them of course. "The Department of Mysteries has examined all memories and pronounced them genuine. However, in the interest of smoother viewing and protecting the identity of one of the people involved in the events of 1981, some modifications have been made. They are as follows:

-The multiple memories have been tied into one, seamless whole. Whenever the source changes, white subtitles will note who the memory belongs to. Corresponding memory sections were combined when appropriate.

-The DOM took some liberties when editing the final draft, to ensure the most crucial elements of the memories are noted. The image may occasionally zoom in or out, and slow motion is used where appropriate.

-Due to the extensive use of the Disillusionment Charm, the memories have been edited to make the actors look like ghosts when the charm is active.

-Uses of the human presence revealing charm will show nearby hidden people as undefined, white figures.

-Due to extensive use of apparition, the scenes may flash into one another abruptly in those cases when the memory belongs to the one performing the apparitions. Again, slow motion is sometimes used to make the transitions smoother.

-Privacy bubble effects are ignored.

-Apparition trails have been rendered as yellow mist.

-Some of the memories involve an associate of the Black Phantom. Since the protection of his identity was a condition of providing the memories, his face has been concealed and the instances where his name are uttered are muted.

Now, for the memories themselves..."

Here Sirius leaned forward to listen more closely. He knew what he'd provided, but not what the other wizard had.

"The memories are of the following events.

-The first appearance of the Black Phantom and his first contact with Sirius Orion Black, Lord Potter and Lady Potter under that assumed identity, though he had not been given the name at the time. Both Sirius Black and the Phantom contributed.

-The second meeting between these same people, which happened days before the events of All Hallows Eve, 1981. Again, both contributed."

Sirius glanced over at Dumbledore and clearly saw the surprise written all over his face. The old man never learned of that meeting, it seemed. He also, probably, didn't suspect that any of what was about to be shown had anything to do with what Trelawney spouted. _That_ would be a surprise.

He had initially been concerned it wouldn't be a good idea to include anything that alluded to the prophecy, but he was eventually persuaded by Amelia, who relayed Lord Black's argument, that everyone would take it as though the prophecy had already been fulfilled, especially when the media painted the situation that way. Besides, if things went to hell in the future, everyone was bound to look to Harry to save them even if there wasn't a prophecy to justify their feelings. Besides, no one would end up knowing more of the words than Voldemort himself, so there was no danger from that direction either.

Remus was surprised as well and... Sirius' eyebrows shot up. Garrick Ollivander was in the witness booth now. He must have come during the recess. Odd. Why would he be there?

Croaker continued. This was where things started to reach beyond what Sirius knew.

"-Halloween and November 1st, 1981, from the Black Phantom's perspective.

-And finally, the hunt for former Unspeakable and convicted Death Eater Augustus Algernon Rookwood." Well, _that_ was a surprise, even more so than whatever the Black Phantom did around Halloween. What could it have to do with anything, Sirius wondered. He glanced at Marius, who gave him a knowing smile but just shook his head and whispered "Just Watch."

Croaker rolled up the parchment and made sure to look over the press and Wizengamot booths chamber before finishing his speech. "The projection system was designed in such a way that the point of view will be the exact same for everyone watching, regardless of the position or angle they gaze upon it from." Which meant that the perspective would stay the same even if people walked around the dais where the "fishbowl" was. "Furthermore, silencing wards will be activated on each section of this auditorium when the projection starts." A roar of protests suddenly sparked, but the gaunt wizard drew his wand and pressed it on something on the desk. Blue light shimmered around all the stands and all voices were suddenly cut off. "_Precisely..._ so that such a reaction cannot impair everyone else's ability to watch and _listen_!"

With everyone suitably cowed, Croaker spoke one final time. "The wards will only prevent the noise from escaping each booth, nothing more! Nevertheless, anyone trying to interrupt the viewing and aren't myself, the interrogators or the counselor for the defense, will be stunned and dragged out of the auditorium." He gave the _whole_ chamber a roaming, stern glare. "More importantly, the images and sounds have not been doctored, and certain scenes are quite brutal. Those with weak stomachs should take appropriate measures. Also, no coarse language has been censored." His eyes swept the amphitheater. "Finally, the representative from the WWN will be behind a one-way sound barrier, to be allowed to comment on the projection without bothering anyone else. Now! Last call for the members of the press! Make sure your quills are activated and that you have parchment to spare!"

Ten seconds later, the head Unspeakable tapped his wand on something that Sirius couldn't see, since the dais and desk were too high up.

The light in the chamber dimmed greatly, and the silver strands swimming in the fishbowl began to swirl and mesh together. They became a kaleidoscope of color that suddenly erupted like a broadening ray through the opening at the top, reflecting sharply in the mirror-like pyramid that made up the vaulted ceiling, far above the pedestal. The light seemed to mesh against it, and fold, then it began to _pour_ back down, and melt, disintegrate really, until a dense fog filled the entirety of the space around which the stands had been built.

Sirius heard the appreciative exclamations from behind him and noted that the Defense was included in the same silencing ward as the spectator booth behind and to the right.

The undefined cloud then began to gain contours, and the scene faded into focus, leaving Sirius free to look at his old apartment building. His _burning_ apartment building, just as the Wizard that turned the Wizarding World upside down began to creep out of the alley where the apparition point was located. White, foggy writing consolidated near the bottom of the image and read "Memory of Black Phantom" just as the person in question peered around the edge of the building...

Only to watch as a cutting curse killed a young woman.

Sirius grimaced. Now he knew why children under 15 had been banned from this whole "hearing."

"Homenum revelio." The Unspeakables had been careful to ensure the volume was high enough for everyone to hear everything perfectly.

Sirius watched with rapidly growing interest how the man took in the situation, counting the life signs, white specks in the film, and then the image flashed...

And the projection had suddenly switched to the man's point of view as he... appeared _on the bloody wall_ and crouched on it as though gravity had absolutely no say in the matter. And before Sirius had a chance to wonder how he did that, the spell came. "Everbero."

It must have been happening just as he was getting his motorbike back to size and mounted it. Sirius watched in fascination as the black magician took care of the Death Eater and sent him to the MOM. The wandless summoning charm was used with such _deliberate_ ease that he could already tell why people were so taken with the man's legend.

Then the roar of his motorbike came, the Black Phantom looking up, a black void, and the projection bisected diagonally. Above was _him_, Sirius Black, battered and bloody, flying out though the exploded window. Merlin, but he looked even worse than he remembered. "Bombarda Maxima!" The explosion made everyone gasp, Sirius could see it, even though nothing but the projection could be heard. And the lower half of the moving picture showed a shrouded face gazing at the spectacle, watching as the building half-collapsed. The debris almost buried him, but then the man disappeared, appearing on the top of a building a bit farther off. His concealed gaze stayed on him as Sirius _barely_ didn't crash his motorbike, swerved and got away, only to be followed by the Death Eaters on brooms.

Then the memory replay switched fully to the Black Phantom. He took out a broom, hopped on it, leaving pretty much everyone gobsmacked at how easily he _stood_ on it instead of sitting, and shot after the hunting party.

It was entrancing. Sirius found himself leaning forward, enraptured by the sight of his chase from such an angle. The dim light in the auditorium and the perfect reproduction of all sounds and lights, the muted howling of the wind, the roar of his bike, the flapping of his watcher's black long coat, everything made it seem as though he was actually _there_. As if everyone in that room was _there_ as history was being made, as he performed death-defying stunts, as the Death Eaters almost lost him.

And then he rode up the wall and into the sky, and nearly smashed into one of the fools. He was so immersed in the memory that he almost missed the awed murmurs from behind him, when he spun his bike, the moon behind him. Even the Black Phantom stopped to stare at him, to just watch as he fire whipped the bastards out of the sky, one after another.

And so it went, through the remainder of the chase. The subtle help the Phantom gave him as he pushed his bike to the limit. The view split again. "Lacero!" Sirius yelled, and below the Phantom whispered "Deprimo."

Sirius leaned back and blinked. Looking back on it, he _had_ been a bit surprised at the time that he caught Bellatrix with that.

"After him idiooooots!" Sirius was sure his crazy cousin's insane scream of impotent rage was heard all the way down to the London underground.

"Contego!" Three stunners and a disarming charm splashed against the translucent shield that sprung behind his bike. "Is this a private party, or can anybody join in?" So many things were getting more coherent. Sirius realized he'd been running on adrenaline at the time, and didn't notice nearly as many things as now.

The meshed memories divided the projection in half again, and Sirius focused on the one not belonging to him. He winced when his memory-self got startled by _another_ soundless apparition. "Who the devil are you?" Well, _that_ dispelled any beliefs that he'd been previously acquainted with the former Death Eater.

But he kept watching, riveted, as the view switched fully to the Black Phantom. How he healed him mid-flight, rolled in his broom dive. The ease with which the man abused apparition was insane. It was incredible that he could do it on a broom, and at night...

And then he finally got to see _how_ the man thinned out the Death Eaters following him. He hadn't seen it at the time... The way he fought, with a cloak that blocked out the sky, and the storm, and crows and twisters. He could barely believe it had all been done with school spells.

Then the double scene again. "Adflicto!" "Convello!"

And it all just went on and on. He eventually stopped registering the awed exclamations of everyone else, like when he wandlessly summoned his wand despite being on death's door, in agony. And then the exclamations stopped coming because the people, too, were riveted, drinking it that piece of _history_.

"Expulso!" It missed the man, but not his broom. The agonized screams were as nasty as the first time around. Sirius was sure at least some people would lose their breakfasts or lunches.

Then came the landing. "Don't shoot." "Field healing in your condition will just make you go into shock faster."

"What, you're a healer now?"

"Actually yes."

The banter had come so naturally at the time.

Then came the healing. White subtitles listed each spell as the man essentially saved his life. Then the amusing attempt at levitating him away, the limping, the annoying way he dodged his questions, them being found. "Confringo!" "Bombarda!"

Oddly, the image didn't cut in half when the Black Phantom blasted him back to his bike. It was all his own memory, all the way through the momentary disappearance of his helper, the cloud of pigeons that caused gasps, crazy Bella, the argument. "It's the only people you care more about than yourself, meaning one of the marauders or... the Potters." "You're leaving _now, _or we can perform the most ridiculous and ineffective version of 'No, _I_ am Spartacus.' What'll it be?"

He'd later looked Spartacus in muggle history to understand what he meant.

Sirius kept watching, not noticing that Marius was watching _him_ more than he was looking at the memory. Nothing was left out of the memory. Not even the quip about Dumbledore...

And then came the part where Sirius stabbed his palm. "Familiae Magia." And _everyone_ breathed in, gaping at the scene. Whatever skepticism existed about him and the Potter magic, it was gone now. Most witches and wizards had never even seen family magic in action before, since only Noble and Ancient houses had it.

And Sirius had _two_ he could have called upon. That definitely left a few Lords and Ladies stunned.

"Ah, Bella dear! So good to know I have _you_ as a stalker. How's life been? Still wetting your knickers every time your bastard master graces your ears with his high, squeaky voice?"

He could _feel_ the incredulous stares being leveled at him from the spectators.

Then the fight. Both of them were formidable. The way the man invisibly had his back was impressive. Then he saw the man jumping at him, getting him out of the way of enemy fire. Then him getting stunned, then getting enervated, and then the misunderstanding when James and Lily Potter suddenly appeared in the clearing with blasts of displaced air and stunned the black-clad man.

A sharp, painful pang of sorrow constricted Sirius' heart. He grit his teeth and mentally cursed the projection for giving close-ups of their faces. James' intense, focused stare as he conjured a dozen bludgers with a single spell took the upper half, and Lily's slightly condescending glare was below, the one she reserved for Death Eaters and clearly implied "I'm smarter than you because I have enough sense to not follow that bastard master of yours." She took up the lower half, as she nonverbally animated all the iron balls to take flight and orbit around them, shielding them from any and all spells. Then Sirius joined in the counterattack.

The three of them worked so well together.

And when the Black Phantom finally rejoined the fight, and James cloaked himself in will and _fire_, Sirius drunk in the sights. Even as people drowned in awe and regret over having lost such powerful people, all he could think was that it hurt to see James and Lily so _alive_, but it would have hurt more if he looked away.

_ Merlin_, how he missed them.

The viewing eventually reached the point of the deception. "Morsmordre!" Quite a few cries of fear sounded behind him. "Hey Voldemort!" And gasps of greater fear at the name. "The things I just said? I was just kidding!" A split-second later, the wizard was on the other side of the labyrinth center and a blasting curse had engulfed his previous position. Voldemort was standing a few meters away. "Now that's just rude!" The Black Phantom chided.

And when he escaped Dumbledore, the projection flashed, the memory blurred and the mist changed to the three of them being portkeyed to Alphard Black's cottage.

Sirius had been there when it happened, so he didn't pay much attention. Instead, he kept switching from James' to Lily's faces, cherishing this chance to see them again. Glad that everyone else got to see what incredible people they were.

And when little Harry came into the picture, Sirius felt his heart breaking all over again.

The memory ended, and Croaker deemed it a good time for a break, since the so-called film had stretched over an hour and a half. There was a break of half an hour before the next memory would be played. Sirius didn't move from his chair, didn't even talk or acknowledge anything around him. Marius respected his unspoken plea to be left alone, and he made sure to prevent anyone from bothering him.

But eventually he placed a hand on his shoulder. "The next one's up now, son."

He took a shuddering breath and nodded.

The light dimmed and the mist surged from the bowl again. The memory started with the stinging hex duel between him and James. The viewing wasn't as dramatic as the first, and Sirius noted that the memory skipped the part when he said he was _wandlessly_ casting the human presence revealing charm. Since this was the Phantom's memory, not his own, he was grateful. "I'm assuming someone cracked my magic concealing charms and modified my portkey alarm and beacon to activate at 'slight discomfort' instead of 'severely injured'? Who was it?"

"My wife actually!" James Potter said proudly.

"Let me guess," The Black Phantom drawled. "Black offered to let you break a few of his bones in order to activate the Clause?"

"Yup!"

The change in opinion about him was almost absolute this time.

"Hey!" Sirius shouted at James, revolted. "As I recall, Lily walked in on us while _you_ were telling _me_ to curse you instead!" Looking back at the bemused Black Phantom, the Hit Wizard leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "She threatened to use a castration curse on him."

Some of the audience chuckled at the antics of the two.

What _wasn't_ left out was the Phantom's conjecture.

"You think there might be spies in the Department of Magical Transportation?"

"Apparently there are spies everywhere," Sirius almost snarled.

Many people shifted uncomfortably.

The "order of the fire chicken" left people confused, though the deductive exercise in regards to _why _the Potters were in hiding cleared up a lot of confusion for everyone, and abated some of the more judgmental people who'd disapproved of the "cowardly" way Hit Wizard Potter hid from Voldemort. But when the word _prophecy _was mentioned, the silence and motionlessness that overtook the hall was like that of a tomb.

Sirius didn't bother watching the rest, though he knew the argument had everyone else on the edge of their seats. "The _Light_ side! Such a joke!" He just looked at Dumbledore, defiantly, who looked back at him with an expression of... distress? Disapproval? Disappointment? Sirius didn't really know. It closed off really quickly.

But it was the part near the end that almost made the old man gape. "Polyjuice, yes. Now tell me something. Has anyone ever told you about the Fidelius charm?"

Sirius didn't realize at the time that the look on his face was so comical.

And their half-open mouths were just as awe-inspiring. "Well," James said rather waveringly, voice a bit higher-pitched than usual. "I suppose you really _might_ have had a point about the whole thing being possible to deduce through conjecture."

The silence was deafening. "You were going to use it anyway, weren't you."

The memory finished when the Phantom disapparated with the same eerie soundlessness as before. People were clearly pondering the meaning of James Potter shaking the hand of the unknown wizard before the last words were uttered. The old families knew well what it meant when a Lord offered his hand. It was the same as saying he considered the other an equal, even if he had no status of his own, let alone Noble House headship.

And for the action to be accompanied by spoken _thanks_. There wasn't a much better endorsement that the Phantom could have gotten.

Croaker announced another half-hour break. It was getting late in the afternoon, but no one was showing any intention of leaving. Sirius spent the time gathering himself, knowing that the next memory would be the most painful, in more ways than one.

"-. .-"

When the third "episode" started, Sirius was jittery. He could sense dread descending on him. He didn't want to see that scene again, but it looked like fate really wanted him to live through it all a second time. He almost snarled in rage. Wasn't it enough that he'd been tossed in Azkaban and had been robbed of the chance to grieve for them?

So he was grateful that the projection started with the Black Phantom on a roof somewhere, at night. "October 31, 1981" the white misty subtitles read. And that it continued with him portkeying from one settlement to another. Sirius idly approved of the portkey bracelet idea, and impassively watched the scenery changing from one beautiful view to another. The question of _what_ on Earth the mysterious wizard was searching for was answered when he muttered a curse and clearly said "Damned Fidelius!"

Then Sirius frowned when the man apparated to the top of a mill and collapsed to his knees, almost falling off the roof, crying out and clutching at his left arm. Sirius was amazed that the man had so willingly provided a memory of his Dark Mark for everyone to see, one even more blatant than the first meeting with him. The tattoo fell inanimate, motionless. It faded even, until it was just barely more visible than a normal scar.

The scene clearly changed. The sky was a bit brighter than before, though still in late evening, and the image flashed a few times. White text appeared near the bottom "Evening, November 1, 1981."

Then the wizard stiffened. "Oh no..." And spun on his heel, blindly disapparating.

The constricting feeling in Sirius's chest returned with a vengeance as soon as the wrecked house came into view. The intakes of breath from behind him reminded him that he wasn't alone in that hall, but he didn't have room to care. He was transfixed by the smoking ruin of a home, so burnt and in shambles, a day after the disaster that ruined his life.

He leaned forward, laying his elbows on the armrests and knitting his fingers together in front of his face. The Black Phantom strode through the house, eventually reaching the living room. The sight of James Potter, dead and his arm in an unnatural angle, made Sirius stiffen. His heartbeat increased. It was frantic, just like the search of the wizard. And then the man in the memory reached the second floor and opened the door, and Lily was still on the floor.

His mind whirled, and he was cold. There was nothing but the clawing, freezing terror, the horrifying wish that It was a nightmare. It had to be. The sight in the living room just couldn't be real. He couldn't get close enough to touch him. He didn't _dare_. If he touched him, it would make everything real-

Sirius didn't even hear the sound of distress that forced its way through his throat, but Marius did. The older man had expected it, not that Sirius could think well enough to realize it. Marius took a hold of his shoulder tight enough to make the wizard gasp out of the memory of Dementor terror. "Breathe in." He said firmly, so Sirius did. It was a nearly automatic response. "Now out. Now in, and out. That's right." His hand moved, slid to his back and began rubbing soothing circles on it. "Breath in and out. Don't worry, no one's really paying attention to us."

Sirius scoffed or choked up a sob, he didn't really know. It was probably both. Like he cared if people were looking at him having a breakdown.

When he finally could breathe without his chest hurting and mustered enough courage to look up again, the black magician apparated back to the front of the Godric's Hollow house, just as the blue light of incoming portkeys lit the area...

And the Phantom was suddenly on the roof of a building a ways off.

Feeling a bit calmer, Sirius nodded to Marius who pulled away but didn't _quite_ step far enough for what he did to not be considered hovering. Sirius didn't really have the strength to mind. It even reminded him of old man Charlus' behavior, back in the early weeks after he sought sanctuary with the Potter family.

Then the Black Phantom stood on his broom, knee bent and the sole on the tip of the shaft and blasted straight into the air. The apparition chase was amazing, but Sirius took advantage of its duration to drag together the remaining shards of his composure.

"Dammit, Sirius. Where the hell are you?" Again that familiar voice. Who the hell was it, and why did he speak of his so familiarly?

But the musing disappeared when he saw the hulking shape on his flying motorbike, and he realized what was coming. Something like excitement surged in him for a moment, and he _knew_ that everyone else was curious to see what had become of the Boy-Who-Lived. The projection jumped forward, and wispy subtitles read "Roughly 4 hours later."

So one can imagine the stunned disbelief of the audience when it was confirmed, by the Black Phantom's enhanced hearing spell as he stood erect on his broom, unseen against the night sky, that yes, Dumbledore really _had_ dumped Harry James Potter on the doorstep of a muggle house like a worthless parcel, leaving him unprotected for hours in the middle of a chilly autumn night.

_"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall. _

_ "Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever." _

_ "Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" _

_ "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."_

_"Get this over with?" _Sirius almost voiced his outrage, and it would have come out as a snarl.

_"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."_

_We may as well go and join the celebrations? _Sirius couldn't believe it. He glared at Dumbledore, who was watching the scene with some disbelief of his own. Clearly he had no idea he'd been seen committing such an outrage, and was trying to guess what the fallout would be of this coming out in the open.

It only got worse for him when he disapparated and the Black Phantom soundlessly materialized right in front of the basket where his godson was. "Unbelievable!" The mysterious wizard said, disbelief coloring his tone as he stared where Dumbledore used to be. Sirius wondered why the voice sounded so painfully familiar, but he was again distracted by the concern he could detect from everyone else watching.

Clearly, they all were apprehensive of what the man could want with their savior. Especially when the wand appeared in his hand. Sirius himself stiffened.

But the wizard in the black long coat bearing the silver serpent on its back only bent down and gently scooped out the envelope, not wanting to disturb the baby's sleep by summoning it from beneath the blanket. A wave of his wand unraveled the parchment, and all was silent as he read whatever was written there. Sirius half-expected the projection to zoom in on the words, maybe even write it all down in subtitles, but it didn't.

"Lily Potter's muggle sister?" Then, the Black Phantom slowly sealed the envelope, let it float back into the basket, cast a privacy ward around himself and the baby and, even through the black void shroud, palmed his face. "A supposed blood ward! And he doesn't bother to actually wait until it takes hold! Merlin's beard, that man must be going senile!"

He hadn't spoken too loudly, but Harry Potter still woke up and started making those adorable baby sounds that Sirius thought he'd never hear again.

And then he looked up and saw the big, black figure. His green eyes widened, making them seem impossibly entrancing, and Sirius could _read_ it on him that he mistook the man for the one who'd killed his mother, right in front of him.

The baby whimpered and began to cry in earnest.

And the older figure sighed deeply. It was a mournful sound.

He bent his knees low, until he was crouching in front of the basket. "I look scary, don't I?" Harry's cries didn't stop, but they quieted somewhat. Sirius knew he was probably the only one in that hall that could detect the confusion in them. "Sorry I woke you, but I'm stressed and tired and lost my temper." He reached down and poked Harry in the tummy. "Come on, little one, you remember me, don't you?"

Harry stopped crying, though he whimpered a couple of times. "Black man..."

"Mhm. I took you to your mom and dad last year, remember?"

Little Harry teared up again. "Mama fall..." Sirius stiffened, and he could see the one in the memory doing the same. Harry had always been a tad precocious. He'd already started to pick up the art of conversation, even at that age.

"Yes. She did." He, too, sounded sad.

"Bad man fall..." Harry clutched at the man's finger, tearing up more. "Mama down. Mama hug...! Green hurt bad man!" Baby Harry sniffed pitifully. "Dada burn bad man... Dada gone!"

Sirius did a double take, distress momentarily forgotten. Had he looked in Dumbledore's direction, he would have seen an equally shocked expression on him. What did Harry _mean_...? James had been killed downstairs. It was clear he'd been killed there. What could Harry have seen?

His heart broke a little more when Harry started to shake with sobs, bad memories overwhelming him.

The Black Phantom sighed and waved his wand, muttering a sleeping charm. "Sleep, little one." So Harry did. "Sleep while I figure out what was done to you."

With a swish and flick, parchment appeared in thin air. Nonverbal conjuration. Then a pouch on his belt opened and out flew a shrunken quill, which quickly resumed its size and positioned itself above the parchment, ready to write.

And then the man cast a standard diagnostic and waited for the quill to write the information down. When it was over, he read his findings. "Hmm. So you really did survive the killing curse. But it's odd that you got a mark. That spell shouldn't leave any." He stayed silent while he read the rest, then ducked his head and sighed in despodence. His focus shifted to the sleeping baby again. "Apparently, no one could be bothered to give you a full check-up, though a spell for dark residue did get cast on you." He crouched next to the basket again, reaching down to trace the jagged, lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. "I'm sorry but I don't have the energy and focus to do a full scan now. And I have to find your Godfather too." The man produced a frustrated sound.

Then he got up, looking unsure of what to do, and sighed again. "Then again I don't have any leads." He shook his head and eyed the corner of the house, then looked at the sleeping baby again. "And I suppose I can't just let you lie here defenseless," he glared at the spot where Dumbledore had last been. "Unlike _some_ people."

The memory fast forwarded just after he translocated outside the front porch, disillusioned himself and leaned against the wall of the house, preparing for a long wait.

Then it faded, and it was already near dawn. The disguised wizard yawned and stretched, and hissed in impatience. With a flick of his wand, he rung the doorbell and waited.

And waited.

Until, finally, a horse-faced woman with twice the usual amount of neck opened the door and looked around, sniffing in confusion, before _finally_ looking down. She gasped, covering her mouth. "Vernon!" She shrieked in distress, miraculously enough _not_ waking the baby.

"What is it, Pet?" The sight of the obese man coming up behind the tall woman (who looked _nothing_ like Lily Potter) made Sirius think of a whale with legs instead of flippers, who had half the usual amount of neck. His stomach dropped. _These _were the people Harry had been sent with? The pudgy face lost some of its color. The man looked around. "What in blazes- Get it inside before someone sees it!" He hissed.

The woman finally snapped out of her near-faint and took the basket, craned her neck again to see if anyone was out and quickly shuffled inside the house, shutting the door.

The projection stopped.

_... it?_

Light returned to the chamber, and Sirius was acutely aware that the disbelieving, accusing stares of each and every person in the auditorium was leveled at Albus Dumbledore, who was failing in his effort to remain impassive. The fingers pressing against his own eyes was clear evidence of the... _stress_... he was experiencing. Sirius Black could almost see the judgment being meted. Even the media had been stunned into motionless denial.

On a whim, he sought out the Death Eater contingent, who were alternatively gaping or wearing confused looks, the sort that said they couldn't process what they'd just seen. Even Lucius Malfoy looked slightly repulsed, though it was probably by the sight of muggles (and the two had likely confirmed every prejudice of them that existed in his mind, not that it was a surprise) instead of the fate inflicted on Harry Potter.

Whatever Lord Black had done to get reporters from all over the world there, it had made perfect sense before and made even _more_ sense now.

Distantly, Sirius noted that this particular memory didn't really have much to do with proving his innocence. Had Marius and the so-called "interrogators" conspired to include it just to make sure there was a foundation for a potential action against Dumbledore later on? Sirius wasn't sure he actually wanted to destroy the man. The Headmaster was supposed to be a good guy, even if he made mistakes.

Then again, calling all those things _mistakes_ might be pushing it.

Numbly, the accused stared at his solicitor, who looked back somberly, and leaned forward to whisper as though he'd just read his mind. "If anyone asks, this part was meant to dispel any notions that the Black Phantom was a bad guy."

Sirius almost cracked up at how perfectly straight Marius kept his face. But he reminded himself that hysterics probably wouldn't help right then. They'd already landed him in Azkaban once.

So he settled for sagging in his stone chair, still unnaturally comfortable, and tuning out the uproar that started when yet another half-hour break was announced.

"-. .-"

When the hall settled down again, it was past five in the afternoon, and yet the number of people present seemed to have grown even larger, and the host from the WWN had switched. The previous one probably had a sore throat at that point.

Croaker stood. "So, if everyone is ready, we will resume." He sent Marius a pointed look.

So the man addressed his client, voice grave. "If at any point you need a break, tell me _immediately_, okay?"

Somewhat confused, Sirius blinked. "Don't worry, after the memory of... that night... I doubt anything can faze me at this point."

Marius looked pained. "I think you'll be surprised." But said nothing more and nodded at the head Unspeakable.

The light dimmed again, lights swirled, mists solidified, and the image was one of night and stone and streets and _fire_.

Sirius froze in his chair, gaze locking on the image. He knew _precisely_ what that place was, and then the subtitles read "November 1, 1981. Tottenham Court Road, London. 45 Minutes after the arrest of Sirius Orion Black."

Merlin's staff!

The Black Phantom was on the tallest building in the intersection. He stood, put on a pair of black goggles, though they disappeared beyond the veil obscuring his face. A faint, yellowish fog, the trace of apparition, appeared across the street, beyond the flames.

And the pursuit was joined. The images kept flashing from one place to another, apparitions leading to increasingly damaged areas. Sirius felt like ice had started growing beneath his skin, but he was too enthralled to start shivering. He _knew_ Peter had escaped through the sewers. Apparitions shouldn't have meant anything. Had he been more deceived than he thought?

Sirius had to approve of the smoothness with which the wizard followed the apparition trail. First to a deserted alley, with traces of spell fight everywhere. Then another side alley in a similar state, then the top of a building, then a deserted playground and yet another grimy alley. Only one garbage can had hints of misfired curses, suggesting that the fight had turned into a chase.

Then the wizard appeared in a darker side alley than the others. The way he covered his nose suggested it must have stank horribly, and Sirius soon understood why: the uncovered manhole nearby.

The Black Phantom dove in and landed lightly. Sirius watched with growing fascination as he went deeper into the unknown, ending up in a pipe subway that he had no idea existed. Muggles really did build the most amazing things.

"Homenum revelio." Nothing. And there were two ways he could go. The wizard shot a transparency spell at the pipe he'd followed down, presumably to see which direction the water flowed. The pipe was barely a quarter full now, due to the damage higher up, but it was enough. Then, he pulled out his broom, sat on it normally for once, and took off.

Not much time later, he stopped because of some unknown signal, settled on the bloody _ceiling_. Sirius could _feel_ each and every Auror in the chamber soaking up everything they could of his methods.

Then the man apparated and was disillusioning himself, crouching on the brick tunnel top right above... Augustus Algernon Rookwood?

Sirius gaped. Had he been standing, he rather suspected he'd have facefaulted. What in the world?

And then came the cube, the start the Black Phantom almost gave, Rookwood blowing up the pipe...

And Peter.

Sirius' face morphed into a hateful sneer.

"Here, ratty ratty ratty..." The rodent in question squirmed and stumbled on all fours, but it was too late. A bright blue light came out of Rookwood' wand and hit it right in the head.

Poor, _pathetic_ little Peter.

"Expelliarmus! Really Wormtail, trying to flush yourself down the drain? Even after escaping through the sewers didn't work out the first time?"

"A-Augustus! Stop this! You're attacking in grief, not thinking straight-"

"Really now!" The old man's face had morphed into a malicious rictus. "I'm not thinking straight you say! Now why ever would you think that? Reducto!" The curse swept by Pettigrew's ear and exploded against the concrete behind him, cutting off whatever he was going to say. "Is it because I want to tell you a story? Come on, Peter, indulge an old man! Stop running away and let me tell you a story."

Sirius stared, completely mesmerized. This.. this was... It totally justified Marius earlier apprehensiveness. The confrontation was intense, and it explained so much. Peter cowering. The image even focused on his hand once, bereft of a finger, completely obliterating any remaining ideas that the public may have harbored, about Sirius murdering him.

"The Death Eater knew better than to question his Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord knew he knew this. 'Quite right. A rat is a rat,' he told the Death Eater. 'Betrayal is what defines those worthless animals. But that's easy enough to deal with, is it not? We just need to collar it.'" Rookwood transfigured another cat. "And maybe get a cat or two, just in case. So that the cat could always find him if he thought he could betray the Dark Lord. So tell me, _Wormtail_. Why did you think it was wise to betray the Dark Lord?"

"I didn't-!"

"Don't lie to me!" Rookwood yelled. "You and your blood traitor friends and Potter's mudblood whore set a trap for the Dark Lord, didn't you! What happened to the Dark Lord? Why did the Dark Mark fade? Where did you lead him to Wormtail? Tell me!"

"There's nothing left! There was nothing left but his burnt, empty robes! He killed James and Lily but when he cast the killing curse on their son, it rebounded, destroyed half the house and his body along with it! That's what happened! Harry was only left with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead!"

The argument just went back and forth.

Then Rookwood was looking murderous. "And next thing you're going to tell me is that that's what you were planning to do yourself? Look for the Dark Lord?"

"Maybe I wa-"

The whole room gasped.

The Phantom materialized to the Unspeakable's right. "Expelliarmus! Accio wand! Incarcerous! Depulso!" Followed by such rapid-fire transfiguration that everyone was left speechless. The Unspeakable was so quickly and thoroughly neutralized that everyone watching was left reeling.

Then he ominously turned on Peter. With deliberately relaxed movements, he flicked his wand upwards, summoning the cube from the ceiling, which he then slipped in a pocket in his long coat. "Hello _Peter_." He said. "Fancy meeting you here."

Sirius didn't notice, but his breath began to thin out. With each new word that came out of the wizard's mouth, a shocking realization crept over him, bit by bit. His conscious mind tried to deny it, to ignore it, but it couldn't. Not with Peter wailing and backpedalling, not with that _voice_ hammering away at memories, long ago sealed away.

"No! No, you don't understand! He's shown we were never friends! And he'll just spin his tales again! They'll all believe him and-"

"Oh, and why would you think that? And who's they? The Aurors? Black? Lupin? Your Order?" He stopped walking. "Or your Death Eater friends?" It was a sneer Snivellus would have been jealous of. "Sounds to me like they're not happy at all. Voldemort went to the Potters on your information and he met his downfall there." Peter flinched. "Afraid of your Master's name, Peter? Afraid of what his supporters would do to you? What Rookwood here would do to you? Don't worry!" He pretended to lower his guard. "I'm not going to let them get you."

"You... You're not?"

"If we hurry, we'll be there just in time for Sirius' trial."

"No! Black's one of them! They'll never... never believe me over him!" Sirius took a moment to feel stupefied at the thought that Peter, the Death Eater, had higher opinion of the Wizarding World and MOM than it deserved. "If... if he says I betrayed James and Lily-"

"Don't you dare speak their names! Not after what you did!"

Sirius jumped in his seat. That... that had sounded _personal_.

A nonverbal summoner wrenched the fat piece of meat forward. Watching the rat man fall on his face in the drainage, Sirius felt a vengeful stab of satisfaction blanket his thoughts. "I've been trying to figure out how a worthless piece of garbage like you could have caused the downfall of the Potters. At first I thought you'd slipped some sort of explosive or poisonous package into the possession of the secret keeper, but Voldemort went there himself, which he could not have done if the secret keeper hadn't told him."

"It wasn't me!" Peter yelled, desperate. "It was-"

"Don't even waste your breath!" A banisher sent the rat hurtling across the water-covered floor. "I agree that Potter and his wife were stupid not to make Sirius their secret keeper, however obvious it would have been to anyone who learned the Fidelius would be used. But don't think blaming him will work with me. Especially not after the nice little story Rookwood shared with us."

"You-y... You Don't understand! Sirius-"

"Don't speak of him!" Pettigrew was blasted straight into the same wall that Rookwood was welded to. Sirius didn't even realize how shallowly he was breathing. It was _impossible_. What his ears were telling him was _impossible!_ "I will _break_ you if you say his name again!" He barely heard the confused and startled gasps elicited by the ferocity in that voice. All he had eyes and ears for was that _man_.

His wand was pointed at the immobilized, terrified rat, and the wizard reached up to pull his hood back, if only to let Pettigrew see the full measure of his fury. "You killed my brother's family and you _dare_ set him up to take the fall for it as well?"

An painful cry of anguish dragged its way out of the chained wizard's chest. This was a joke. A bad joke. Fate was just playing a cruel trick on him. This couldn't be anything else!

Wormtail made a strangled, pitiful sound when he finally recognized him. "R-r-r-Regulus Black-"

The audience's explosion of shock was so strong that even the silencing wards separating the booths couldn't contain them completely.

"You will rue the day you _dared _harm me and mine." The black-clad mage released the sustained banisher and the rat man collapsed on the floor with a thick splash. Peter choked on sewage and pushed himself up and back, his eye wildly looking from him to a way of escape, but finding one. "You sold Lily and James Potter to Voldemort!" Regulus Black towered over the shaking, fat man, and then spoke in a voice, eerily similar to that of one Marius Black. "Do you deny it?"

Sirius couldn't breathe, but he couldn't tear his eyes away either, not from his face, his _brother's face_. His _brother_. The Black Phantom was his _little brother._

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was disgusting to watch, like an oversized, slimy baby cowering on the floor. "What could I have done? The Dark Lord… you of all people should have an idea… he has weapons most people can't imagine… I was scared! I was never brave like S-... like him and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me -"

"Don't lie!" Regulus yelled. "You'd been passing information to him for a year! You planted that hexed cube in Sirius' motorbike! _You_ applied the tracking beacons on yourself and Lupin when you were finally led to the Potter home! You were the bastard's spy!" It should have felt vindicating, but Sirius couldn't care at that point.

"He - he was taking over everywhere!" gasped Pettigrew, struggling to stand. "Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him? You yourself didn't!"

"At least I saw what an error it was! Are you really enough of a moron not to?" Sirius' breath hitched. This was... this was one of his greatest dreams come true, but it was cruel. Too cruel to learn of it like this. "You're telling me you, who were always so close to three of the people who shone brightest, couldn't tell what could be gained from opposing the most evil wizard who had ever existed? Despite the fact that even a pureblood fool like me could figure it out on his own?" Regulus Black's magic was vibrating in rage. The foul water was rippling away from him. "What could be gained? Only innocent lives Peter!"

"You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew as he crawled to his feet, actually believing that his reasons were good enough, even though few others did. "He would have killed me!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" Sirius' breath hitched sharply. His chest flared, physically and not, sending pain radiating outward in waves. "You should have DIED!" Apparition magic blasted a trench through the water, and Regulus' fist smashed into Pettigrew's jaw with enough prejudice to send him staggering. He struck him again, send blood everywhere, and then again, with a side-kick to the face that drew a pitiful, keening noise as the rat flew through the air and splattered, _crumpled_ to the floor.

And the voice yelled so _loudly_ that everyone watching _cowered_. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS! AS THEY WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Sirius gasped and jerked in his chair, his whole body wracked with tremors. It made him fold on himself, clutching at his chest as it constricted. His lungs didn't seem to be able to hold enough air anymore. The wound left by James and Lily had always stayed opened, and with the tortures of Azkaban still fresh, seeing _this_, this shock was just too much to bear...

Nearby, Marius shouted something, slamming the table next to him, and Sirius barely heard it. A gong shook the room, and there was light again. Aurors came over, but Sirius didn't hear them. He barely even heard Marius impatiently demanding a time out, then angrily shouting at the Aurors to unlatch his chains, telling them in a chillingly cold voice that _**HE **_would be escorting his client to the washroom "And NO ONE else will get near or I'll sue them into the next century!"

The manacles fell, but Sirius only felt himself getting worse. The snarky part of his brain, the only one still working, noted that this all would do a fat a load of good, a breakdown in such a public venue. The media would be having a field day with him, he just knew it. "Come on, Sirius. Up! That's right." He didn't think he'd be able to stand, but he somehow did, and he thanked the gods, if there were any, that Marius wrapped an arm around him and steered him wherever he was supposed to go, because his sense of balance and direction had both been shot.

And because calling Merlin's name just didn't seem enough, he could only think, over and over, _Oh My God._


	10. Chapter 9: Retroactively Proactive

**Chapter 9: Retroactively Proactive**

"-. .-"

He didn't remember much of the walk to the washroom. Or bathroom or whatever. Maybe because it was really short. Maybe because he wasn't paying attention. Or maybe because he wasn't fully conscious for all of it. Like sleepwalking. He'd sleepwalked before. He vaguely remembered waking up in the corner of his cell in Azkaban, or leaning forward against the bars, even though he was sure he always lied down on that so-called bed, more of a slab really. Usually he was pulled out of his slumber and straight into one of those memories. He sometimes didn't realize he was awake, or that he'd been sleeping in the first place until the Dementor got bored with him and glided off...

He pulled in a breath of air, a shuddering one. It made him remember that his whole body was shaking, and he almost fell. Even though he was leaning with his forehead against the wall, with his arm over his head, basking in the chill of the white ceramic tiles, he almost slid off balance. His knees felt like they'd been hit with a double dose of the jelly-legs jinx.

His other hand was still tight around the fabric covering his chest. For the longest time, it had felt like his lungs were taut, stretched apart too far, and too empty, like no matter how much air he drew inside, it was as if it wasn't there. Now that he didn't think he'd suffocate, he wondered how he'd managed to get through the attack of... whatever it was without getting sick to his stomach.

He tried to calm himself, even attempted an area sweep, his secret, _wandless_ Homenum Revelio, but they both seemed to slip through his metaphorical fingers. Each time he got close, his efforts fumbled, because what he'd just seen in that auditorium came back to the forefront of his mind like a sudden flash of light...

Managing to stand upright, he pushed himself from the wall and staggered over to the nearest sink, fumbling with the handle that controlled the cold water. Once the tap started pouring, he splashed his face repeatedly, the icy feeling finally resetting his nerves. He stopped to draw a deep breath only after drenching his face for the two dozenth time. Some of his hair fell over his face and got thoroughly soaked.

Then he stayed there, hunched over the sink, propped up by both hands. The grip on the porcelain was so hard that his knuckles had gone white. It had been over ten minutes since he'd gotten to that public bathroom, and while no one else had come in, he didn't realize or care. He just, finally, blurted. "That didn... d-didn't just happen..." Water dripped off his goatee and nose as he voiced his denial.

Marius had both hands behind his back and was leaning against the door. Sirius could see him at the edge of his vision. The older man said nothing.

"That can't have... It's ridiculous! That... that..." Sirius hammer fisted the edge of the sink so hard that it shuddered. "Goddammit!" The tap water just kept pouring.

Silence. Then the convict snickered and laughed. It was a bitter, self-ridiculing sound that rasped against the inside his throat. "And here I thought I'd not gone insane." He shook his head but didn't lift his gaze, still affixed to the stream of water. "Hilarious."

"You're not insane, Sirius." It was the first time Marius addressed him by name.

He laughed again. Instead of lifting his head, he sagged further. His elbows slid farther on the edges of the sink and he let his forearms lay on top of one another. "You sure? Because I'm pretty sure I am. Why else would that... that..." His train of thought didn't go any further. It was like the... train... slipped off the tracks and performed the most spectacular crash. All that was left was "Why?" _Why, why, why _"WHY?"

Marius didn't move when Sirius met his eyes for the first time, except to shrug. And his words had no inflexion. "You're family."

Sirius was away from the sink and pacing before he knew he was doing it. "No." he said. Then louder.. "NO. That's bullshit!"

"Sirius-"

"NO!" He turned his back fully, half his weight propped against the wall with both hands. "He-s not-I'm not-" What was he _saying_? "I'm not his family. I haven't been since sixth year."

It was an unforgiving tone, Marius' answer. "Well he still loves you."

Sirius spun on his feet, snarling. "That's the PROBLEM!" His heart was racing inside him, pounding against his sternum. "He should hate me! He should... he should... WHY? Why does he still..." His fingers slipped through his hair, forcefully. "Why doesn't he _hate_ me? Why doesn't he even in the _least_ resent me?"

"Sirius-"

"Don't say it!" He growled harshly. "Don't say it! Whatever it was going to be! Don't!"

Marius gazed at him long and hard. "I see," he said coolly. "So what now? Are you going to trample his feeling and everything he's done for you?"

"He should have stayed the hell away!" Sirius roared, not realizing he was being provoked, or why. "He should have gotten out of it when he could! He should have just gotten away from all of this when he was given the chance! He should have turned his back on me like I did to him!"

Marius blinked, clearly not having expected that.

Then Sirius' his rage shattered, along with his voice. "You don't understand... you don't _know_ what I... I _did_ it to him. I turned my back on him, I pushed him straight into the fangs of those... those..."

"Sirius-"

"I can't just accept this!" The rage had become desperation. "It doesn't make any sense! When I ran away from home at sixteen I convinced myself that he would be fine! I convinced myself to not think that what I'd been suffering would pass to him! I convinced myself that Regulus would enjoy being the perfect pureblood I never was, even though I'd seen enough to know that might not be what he wanted! I stopped thinking about it! I turned my back on him and became willfully blind, blissfully ignorant while I insinuated myself into the life of another family! And the worst part is that that's not even the worst I did! I... I-I..."

Though Sirius hadn't seen it, looking down at the ground, Marius had pushed himself away from the door and was hovering uncertainly half-way between it and him.

"I abandoned him long before!" His eyes blazed as he glared at the man, but not really at him. They felt foggy and heavy. "I told him not to call me 'Siri' in his letters in my first year, because my friends thought it was embarrassing! Because I finally had people that didn't judge me for not being a perfect dark prince, and I actually valued their opinion over Reg's feelings, after knowing them for just a few days! Nevermind that I could have easily waited to read his letters in private instead of opening them at the breakfast table as though there was nothing special or worth cherishing about them! Nevermind that the nickname was part of what defined our relationship, a part I'd never had a problem with before!"

"-"

"When he finally entered Hogwarts in my second year, I'd managed to shun him enough, and antagonize the rest of the family enough, that he didn't call me 'Siri' anymore even when it was just the two of us! By second term he'd long passed the point where he sought me out! I was so high on my horse, bullying the Slytherin that I never once considered he might be suffering repercussions inside his own house because of me! Even though I knew that if Bellatrix, if not Narcissa, picked on him all the time when they visited at home, ridiculing him, they were probably doing the same at Hogwarts! That they were probably setting an example for the rest of the house."

"You were thirteen."

"That's no excuse!" It wasn't. Age wasn't. Nothing was. "And then in later years, Merlin's balls I was such a prat. High on my success in Griffindor. Growing colder towards him, treating him like a stranger! Never once congratulating him for being such a great seeker, instead resenting him for winning Quidditch games for Slytherin. And I was always feeling like _I_ was the one doing him a favor, and calling him out on his associations with the worst of the 'slimy snakes' as though I'd given him any other choice! And then in sixth year I completely cut off all contact with him, because I wanted nothing to do with the Blacks anymore, not once giving thought to what that would do to him. That it would only leave him with the option of joining that bastard!"

His voice had grown progressively hoarser, and there was no longer just rage driving them.

"And then... then... School was over, old man Charlus did the adoption ceremony and I decided to put everything... all of _them_ behind me..." His eyes burned, so he tried to wipe the feeling away, only to make them spill. "I was all black and white... And Regulus... dear, delicate, gentle Reggie that would cry when he found a dead sparrow and hugged the house elves when they brought him breakfast in bed when he was sick... He was suddenly just a filthy Death Eater, like all the others. I had a new family that loved me. Friends. And then... then... Oh Merlin..." His knees finally weren't strong enough, and he'd have tipped over is there wasn't one big, tall, taller than _him_ and strong great-uncle to wrap his arms around him. His chest started heaving again, but with sobs this time. "And then I g-got them k-killed, just like I destroyed my little brother. And it took the d-dementors to pull the worst of me to the forefront of my mind before I even realized everything I'd d-done."

The tears burned as they poured, marring the older man's suit for the first time, but neither of them made note of it. Sirius didn't even have the mental strength to realize how odd it was that he was crying his eyes out on the shoulder of a virtual stranger. Marius' words just came back. _You're family_. "I'm not family," he forced out. "Not after all that."

"Well, that's tough lad." Marius said softly, not pulling away. "Because that's not your decision."

It should have been embarrassing, to spill his heart out and hold that tearful hug like he did with Charlus at sixteen, but Marius seemed to be doing most of the work anyway. It must have been minutes before Sirius finally calmed down again, but Marius didn't give any indication he was growing uncomfortable.

He was probably waiting for the question Sirius dreaded to ask.

So when he finally felt strong enough to stand on his own, the wizard slowly pulled away and, after blowing his nose on a handkerchief Marius had probably prepared for that exact situation (he had another one), he hesitantly met the man's eyes again, barely speaking above a whisper. "Is he here...?"

"If you mean _here_ as in this level of the Ministry, he is."

He hesitated. "Can I see him?"

Marius raised an eyebrow. It struck Sirius that the man definitely had all the facial traits that made the Blacks so elegantly handsome, even though he had aged faster than magicfolk. "You don't really want to see him yet." He said flatly. And he was right. "And I doubt it would be a good idea for you two to meet when you _still_ only view him as an excuse to feel sorry for yourself."

Ouch. Sirius winced. That had definitely burned. And he'd asked for it really. So, naturally, he tried to change the subject, not even bothering to attempt to be subtle about it because he knew Marius would probably catch on anyway. He was a lawyer. A smart lawyer. Scarily smart. "He's the one that's been doing the magic, isn't he?" Then he blinked in shocking realization. "Was he behind my chair the whole time?" Then he looked around quickly, finally making a successful area sweep, but only detecting one person outside the door. Probably the Auror escort.

Marius's lips twitched, but he didn't answer. Instead, he gave Sirius a taste of his own medicine. Which was to say, he abruptly changed the subject without even bothering to be subtle about it, handing him a comb. "Wash your face and tidy your hair. Everyone is waiting on us."

"-. .-"

The first thing that drew Sirius' attention when he finally returned to the auditorium was the Grand Memory Projector. The lights were on, but the life-like projection was still there. The 20-foot Regulus soundlessly yelled at a cowering Peter, who wheezed and tried to crawl away, spitting out a tooth, but Regulus grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, throwing him against the wall opposite the one Rookwod was stuck to. The scene kept looping like a wizard photograph.

On the walk back to his chair, Sirius looked over the audience, a bit thinner now. Most children were gone, probably because their parents didn't want them to see anything more of the "brutality" in the memories. Of those who were left, most people averted their eyes when they felt his gaze. It was a rather extreme reaction, he thought. Marius must have noticed, from where he walked along, next to him. He raised his hands, flawlessly performing the "air quoting" gesture. "James is my brother. In heart, in blood, in magic. He and Lily live for Harry now which means Harry... is more important than _anything_."

The wizard dropped his head in embarrassment, rubbing his forehead. It felt wrong, somehow, to have those things so out in the open, but he had to agree that they helped sway public opinion. A lot.

Eventually, he was in his chair again. Still very comfortable, and he thought he knew why it was that way now. He leaned back and closed his eyes, _searching_, but there was no one unseen nearby. He stretched it farther, but this sense he was cultivating didn't really distinguish between seen and unseen people.

Basically the place was too crowded.

"Defense counselor!" the Minister called out, startling Sirius. "Are you ready to proceed or does your client need to be seen by a healer?"

"Thank you for your concern, but no. My client had no idea he still had living blood relatives you see, so the shock of learning in this fashion, after being forced to relive the night of Halloween 1981, was just a bit too much all at once."

"Very well, then we will proceed."

Light dimmed again and the projection resumed. Sirius rather thought he'd already gotten past the shocking parts, and actually half-expected his... his brother's brutality, but it wasn't more than two minutes before the shocks started again. "Expelliarmus!" The rat was yet again thrown off his feet and the spare wand flew to the other wizard's hand. "You salvaged Voldemort's wand Peter?"

Sirius gaped. He couldn't help it. His mouth stayed that way through the rest of the confrontation, the attempted escape, then as yet another wand was taken. And the next shock came when the Killing Curse was shouted by two voices at once, and Sirius finally shut his mouth, jaw going taut as he tensed, fearing the worst.

It was eerie, how the projection slowed down, showing perfectly the surprise on Regulus' face as he turned around, the green lights converging on him from the front and behind, only for the scene to flash. Regulus was suddenly a fair distance away, but the curses collided, completely silently in the dilated virtual time. The loud boom came half a second after the spells erupted in a giant ball of green light and shook the underground pipeway, enough to throw the wizard off his feet.

Then everyone saw the Unspeakable, with torn robe sleeves and bloodied joints, relieve Peter of his last wand. He was hunched forward, the evidence of his struggle against his bindings clearly visible on his body, from both before and after the wall was broken enough for him to escape due to Peter's misfired spells. And he was grinning victoriously. "Bombarda Maxima!"

Sirius almost jumped from his seat. He could have done it too, since the chains hadn't flown to manacle him again. He couldn't believe his eyes, or his ears. Even as his brother escaped, then made his way back to the area with incredible haste, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't, even when the man dug up the body parts.

Seeing the head though...

Sirius sagged in his chair, though his eyes stayed glued to the GMP. He felt cheated, somehow. That was... That was...

"Rookwood."

Sirius had _never_ heard his brother sound so menacing in his life.

Needless to say, even though the realization that Peter was _dead_ had numbed his brain, the chase was spectacular, the urgency clearly transmitted, and the relentlessness visible in how furious the black wizard's spellwork was, and how desperate Rookwood's flight. And then the heroic stunts Regulus pulled when Rookwood tried to use a hostage. The conjured knife, how it vanished and materialized three meters above Rookwood's wand arm. A wandless levitation charm pulled the knife straight down.

It went right through the Death Eater's wrist. "Gooah!" His hold on the girl loosened, and it was all Regulus needed. In a flash he was in front of her, his left fist pulled back. It swung forward, past her head and right into Rookwood's jaw. The movement sent the Unspeakable falling, and Regulus himself forward, enough to engulf the young woman and teleport her out of the danger zone.

The man in the accused's chair wanted to yell at the girl to let go of his robe.

"Confringo!"

"Contego Maximus!"

"Protego!"

"Diffindo!"

"Lamiae Daemonion-

"Stupefy!"

"-Infernus Deflagratio! "

Wait, what?

And there were gasps.

Well really, Sirius couldn't blame the viewers. Fiendfyre was an unofficial unforgiveable. The way the flames erupted, lighting up the night and engulfing the world in its threatening maw...

"Don't just stand there!" Regulus yelled, and some people in the stands jumped up, forgetting they were seeing a recording instead of actually being there. "Sonorus. I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

And nothing he did to tame the flames seemed to really help. The view was as entrancing as it was frightening, with dark spirits of fire, completely out of control. Eventually, even Regulus seemed to admit it, and realize it was about time he hightailed it and alerted the Magical Catastrophe squad or something-

But the wizard drew his arm back, and sent his wand in a forward jab. "Lamiae Daemonion Infernus Deflagratio!"

"What the-!"

Fire raised around the black wizard in a smoldering circle, looking like the mouth of hell. It spun like a twister, thought soon it, too, acquired all sorts of animalistic, bestial shapes. The magic was straining, as if the fire spirits were outraged and wanted to consume Regulus along with everything else. It reared, came together in a cloud above him, like a looming beast. The caster was clearly straining, leaning forward as though his body suddenly weighed too much.

It had been foolish to try it. Rookwood had set off too large a flame, knowing it was uncontrollable beyond a certain point. Regulus should have known better.

And when he grunted, breath leaving his lungs slowly, it was clear that he was losing control. The flaming twister drew closer, pulling at his coat, trying to consume him first. In horrified fascination, the so-called convict could only watch as his brother was being eaten by his own spell, forgetting that Regulus _must_ have pulled through if he was available to provide the memory.

And then the Black Phantom suddenly stopped shaking, going perfectly still. The flames wavered and grew in volume, as though uncertain.

And with a sound like a dozen chirping birds, lightning erupted from the concrete beneath Regulus' feet, colored clearest light blue. It cloaked the wizard, distorting the flames around him, forcing them into the shape of the House of Black crest, then a huge raven that spread its wings and flapped them once, pushing away the swirl of demon fire. The Black Phantom straightened, his poise regal, the veil on his face was disrupted for a moment, enough to see white arcs of electricity flowing out of his eyes. His wand was pointed right towards the sky and the other arm was outstretched and slowly ascending, as the raven of Black resolved itself into a dragon's shape.

The wand descended then.

The dragon swooped down on the opposing pyre. Wings of plasma lit up the area, as if the sun had risen completely even though it had not. When the flaming spirits clashed against each other, everything just became brighter. It belied the dark nature of the cursed fires, and the heavy weight of the magic that had been summoned.

Then, at last, Regulus won, and banished the flames. The fires slowly died down, until there were just cinders. Then even those were gone.

Silence.

Sirius was left staring. His little brother didn't seem to realize he'd just been possessed by the family magic. Something that only legends spoke of. Sirius knew, he had to know having been subjected to the heir rite himself, of the family magic of Noble and Ancient Houses, Most Ancient ones in particular, and how they once, long ago, could be used for more than conducting blood adoptions and inheritance or judgment rites. Most of which weren't exercised by Lords anymore because, for example, judgment usually judged the lord along with the one being judged.

There were old texts that said Family Magic is the expression of the will of "The Powers that Be," or Ancestors or some other higher power, which guide families and provide protection.

Like acting through a scion when it's in the best interest of both the House and the rest of the world (and not just the Wizarding World for that matter).

Like the Magic of Black had acted through Regulus Black on November 1, 1981.

Sirius thought the projection would stop there, but it didn't. Regulus walked to the center of where the hellfire had been and spun on his heel. The image flashed a final time, and Sirius _knew_ where he was. Well, not exactly _where_, but he knew what that was. What kind of safe house it was, and that apparating into it should have been impossible if you weren't keyed to the wards.

Though, clearly, Regulus didn't know what the place was, even though he found enough papers to pick up a trail.

The episode ended, and Sirius looked at Croaker long and hard, until the man felt him watching, caught his eye and shrugged, completely unconcerned.

Bloody hell.

"-. .-"

It was about half past 7 in the evening, and Sirius was stunned to see that everyone was _still_ there. It was shocking really, that there hadn't been a mass outcry of higher proportions yet. After all, Lord Black, through Marius Cygnus Black and various other people or means, had not only put the current Administration through the grinder, but also dragged the names of Barty Crouch and Albus Dumbledore through the mud. All the while upturning public opinion about him, Sirius Orion Black, and the life of Harry James Potter, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and (technically) Earl of Arundel, since Potter was just the new name taken by the main branch of the British Duke of Norfolk line back in 1476, when it broke off and "disappeared" into the Magical World.

_No_ one was going to believe the fairy tales about Harry after this, and _no_ one was going to openly doubt him, Sirius Black, of his innocence and loyalty to House Potter if they knew what was good for them. If they did, he'd just threaten to sic Marius on them.

That was another thing. Marius Black, a squib, had just become one of the most astonishing people known to Magical Earth, courtesy of worldwide WWN and press agents. If _that_ wasn't a kick in the balls of pureblooded bigotry, he didn't know _what_ was.

Really, the only thing missing was something that would totally open the eyes of Wizarding Britain to what muggles... well, _nonmagicals_, were really like. But Lord Black, whoever he was (damn Marius for being so tightlipped) probably thought it would be one shock too many.

The projection coalesced into a dinner scene at a muggle restaurant, between Regulus Arcturus Black and a very elegantly dressed muggle man, playing a very muggle game of poker.

Sirius realized he may have judged the unknown Lord Black a _bit_ too soon.

As Croaker had promised, the projection had been very lovingly edited in such a way as to make something like a shadow cover the upper body of the muggle man, shrouding him in darkness, but leaving his mouth and the whites of eyes visible.

It looked awesome.

"How about a game of poker while our waiter arrives?" His fingers deftly ran the deck through the shuffling motions. "I assume you at least know how to play?"

The young man didn't react to his deliberately skeptical tone, but gestured at him to go ahead as if just to indulge him.

With a sardonic eyebrow raised, the stranger distributed the cards. He won the first hand. After mixing the cards again, he won the second game to a forfeit. "So, are we going to get introduced at some point?"

"I am sure you already have a large file on me, for all the good it will do." Regulus was playing the part of a noble perfectly. "But since I seem to have been raised in a different society I suppose I shouldn't expect you to adhere to the same rules of conduct as myself." He discarded two of his cards. "Which is to say, I won't take offense to you not introducing yourself before asking for someone's name, in this case Arcturus Black."

"Arcturus. I wonder who gave your parents help with that. Was it a wicked sibling? Some other relative?"

Sirius didn't really understand the relevance of this meeting, even as the conversation wore on, especially since the name of the man, as Croaker had promised, was muted. But then the scene fast-forwarded to after most of the food was gone.

Once the waitress took their plates away, and the muggle flirted with her yet again, much like Sirius would have done if it were him, Black spoke. "Perhaps we should get down to business? I have more important things on my mind than outdated wooing tactics."

"We've narrowed down the search." What search? For Rookwood? Muggles had tracked down an Unspeakable? "We tracked banking activities and we found one that turned out to belong to one of the three files you provided, one without the ID." Fortunately, Croaker had made a point of specifying, in advance, that the banking activities therein mentioned had nothing to do with Gringotts. "We managed to get a photograph of him that way." He slid over a small photo, like the sort used on passports. It was of a middle-aged man with greying hair and black eyes.

"And I assume you tried to apprehend him yourselves but you couldn't find him? Let me guess, your agents and other people have been remembering something important they had to do when they got to wherever you think he's holed up? Or did they just walk past without noticing?"

"After a bunch of people all said similar things, it was clear enough what was happening."

"I'm sure."

The agent raised an eyebrow. "Why do I detect an undercurrent of sarcasm in your voice?"

"Because you are very good at reading people," Black drawled, and Sirius thought he could finally understand why this scene was included. "So good that you obviously believe you have me all figured out after this one dinner, so let us hear it. What are you surmising right now?"

The main problem with people raised in the Wizarding world in general, and bigoted purebloods in particular, was that they considered muggles lesser creatures, little better than animals. They truly believed they were ugly, stupid, and generally inferior in every way.

So it was with some measure of shock, Sirius could tell, that they all saw a random person successfully psychoanalyzing a Scion of a Noble and Most Ancient Magical House after just one dinner and game of cards. It was clear, now, why Croaked had _also_ said, just before starting the memory, that it actually _was_ a real event instead of playacting. Otherwise, most purebloods would have just convinced themselves it was all a contrived scene and ignored it, just so they could continue to blissfully think nonmagical folk were all retards. Many were probably going to do it anyway actually.

"About you, mister Black?" The man _clearly_ had the art of dramatic delays down pat. "By your demeanor, I'd say you come from an old and wealthy family. Normally your quip about my flirting being nothing new would make me think you are well versed in charming the opposite sex, but the complete lack of advances on your part despite the beauty of our waitress makes me think you speak more like a... witness... than anything else."

Sirius could only blink. That was remarkably accurate.

Regulus blinked too, resembling Sirius to an eerie extent. "Something that is true about a great many people and can be explained in many ways like, say, going out to eat often and witnessing similar things."

"True. But you got annoyed enough to somehow magic your hand to win the poker game right after I made that quip about a wicked sibling. Now you _could _say you were offended on his behalf for my so-called insult, but I think it's more likely you were raised in his shadow, and witnessing his exploits with women is just one reason you grew up feeling inadequate, like you could never live up to whatever expectations everyone else, your parents most likely included, had of you."

Sirius was gaping. Again. Next to him, Marius was grinning, shoulders shaking, finding everything hilarious.

"Your sarcastic way of speaking, if I were to guess, is only a recent development, a way to make up for all the years of, what did you call it? Adhering to rules of conduct? I suppose it is a good enough way to convince yourself you've freed yourself from your past, but that doesn't hold up in the face of everything else you do. You always stay hidden unless you have no recourse, conceal your appearance whenever you go out on one of your so-called interventions, and soundlessly move around as if fearing discovery. I presume you rationalize it by contemplating the benefits of stealth and misdirection, but what if it's really just the continued manifestation of a deep desire to prevent the world from figuring out who you are, because you yourself don't know who you are... and want to figure it out first?"

In the projection, Regulus leaned back and stayed silent. In the Auditorium, everyone did the same. Sirius had the presence of mind to glance in the Wizengamot's booth and was treated to the satisfying sight of Lucius Malfoy with eyes the size of tennis balls.

And then the pureblood prejudices were treated to another battering when the (in)famous Black Phantom did _not_ try to debunk even the smallest part of that deductive exercise, but instead performed a psychoanalysis of his own, indirectly acknowledging the man as an equal, intellectually if nothing else.

"Alright," Regulus said blandly. "By the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever. Naturally you think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with _such_ disdain, and going by how you started your analysis by speaking of wealth, my guess is that you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means that you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity... hence that chip on your shoulder. And since you were so eager to delve into how horrible it is to have older siblings and parents with high hopes for you, I'm thinking you're an orphan... and part of what you just told me is along the same lines of what you used to tell yourself before going to sleep at night as a child, to make the loneliness seem just a little bit less unbearable. Maybe your parents or possible brothers were or would have been horrible, abusive ones. Maybe it was better that you were all alone."

In the wizarding world, so many implied insults would once have been grounds for an honor duel to the death.

But the nonmagical man simply smiled, acknowledging the draw in the duel of words.

The projection melted, the misting motes of light swirled around, then solidified again, just as the two portkeyed in the alley between two houses. The man, probably an agent of the government now that Sirius had time to think about it, somehow managed to only barely stumble, which was noteworthy.

Letters appeared near the bottom of the image. "Italy, Island of Sicily, November 15, 1981."

Then it was just like watching a spy movie. Some parts had clearly been taken out, but the scene where Rookwood somehow detected them when they trailed him after leaving the seaside castle-hotel and apparating to the nearby village/town wasn't.

Then there was another chase. Rookwood tried to fight at first, probably thinking Regulus wouldn't live up to his reputation because of his youth, but that was a mistake, especially with the agent there, firing at him with a gun. After a while, he disapparated. "Damn coward." Regulus sniped, then glared at the man. "I thought you were better with that gun." He disapparated.

And the screen split, leaving the muggle in the above half, with Regulus magically chasing after Rookwood.

The man rolled his eyes while running down the street during the night, pressing a finger over his ear. "I'm using normal ammunition that won't go through the dragonhide, because you _insisted_ you want him alive. Do you have any idea how hard it is to _not_ kill someone with one of these? Especially for me? I basically have to force myself to _not_ shoot him in the head. It's frustrating."

Below, Regulus (in a different part of whatever settlement that was) teleported thrice, and sent one banisher at Rookwood each time. One was dodged, one blocked and one taken full force, but the Unspeakable disappeared again. "Excuses," the wizard shot back through the communicator, following.

The long-range banter continued until the electronics failed because of all the magic being tossed around. Sirius was privately surprised the communicator survived the first two dozen apparitions, but he was more focused on Regulus appearing on top of lamp posts and running on walls a couple of times. When he met Lord Black in person, he'd have to remember to do something to ensure Regulus got some compensation for demonstrating his techniques to the whole world. Maybe patenting them and making the Auror Corps pay licensing fees? Was that even possible?

Black flashed into being on the wall of the tallest house on that lane and sent a red blast after him, then teleported to the top of a street light, accurately predicting his first strike would miss. "Fulmen!" A bolt of electricity was barely avoided by the target, but cobblestones were blasted apart.

"Fyrag-OH! " Rookwood's spell was disrupted when he was shot in the forearm.

The chase kept on for a while, but Regulus finally locked spells with him on the roof of a house, activating a cube like the one that had been used on his bike. It was a dramatic sight, with both of them leaning back on one leg, the other one stretched forward. _P__ushing_ jagged streams of white and dark orange light at each other, wands held above their heads. Their cloaks fluttered at every aftershock and the sound was like a brewing storm.

Everyone was anticipating the Black Phantom's win, so it was a shock when the agent (the _muggle)_ used some sort of little gizmo to knock both wizard on their behinds. Regulus' hood was even thrown back.

But before Sirius could wonder why Rookwood's capture never got used as a means to get him out of Azkaban, the bastard pulled out a spare wand and turned it on _himself_, twisting it one and snarling vindictively. "Obliviate!"

"Expelliarmus!" The memory charm was interrupted as the wand was wrenched from the older wizard, but it only left Rookwood dazed and sputtering. "What did you do?" Black descended on him and shook him by the front of his robes. "What did you erase you bastard?" No answer was given. "What do you know about Peter Pettigrew? Tell me you trash!" But there was only a confused expression.

With a hiss of rage, Black jabbed his wand. "Stupefy!" and Rookwood was out.

The scene swirled on final time, and then Rookwood was somewhere inside a room, tied to a chair, with Regulus in front of him and the other man looming from the shadows behind him. Words appeared, saying "The next day."

"Open your mouth, Rookwood." Regulus pinched the older wizard's nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth to inhale. When he did, three drops of the truth serum fell down his throat. In seconds, his expression turned into a dull, blank one.

"What is your full name?"

"August Algernon Rookwood."

"What is your profession?"

"I'm an Unspeakable with the British Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"What do you know about Peter Pettigrew?"

"Nothing."

"Did you ever hear the name Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

Sirius expected rage, but there wasn't any. Given Rookwood's... state of health, he rather suspected Regulus had taken it out on him in the time between the previous scene and this one.

"Do you remember obliviating yourself at any point during the past 24 hours?"

"No."

The younger black rubbed a hand over his face, acknowledging that his main goal was shot. But he still decided to make the best of the capture.

"What did Voldemort have you do?"

"I spied on the Department of Mysteries."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"What was the most important task of the past year?"

"I was tasked with locating and bringing the dark lord a prophecy."

Obviously, the whole auditorium leaned forward in interest, much to Dumbledore's consternation.

"What prophecy is that?" Black asked the bound man.

"I don't know."

"What does it say?

"I don't know."

What is it about?"

"I don't know."

"Who made it?"

"I don't know."

"How did Voldemort learn of it?"

"I don't know."

The perspective closed in on Regulus' face as he narrowed his eyes. "What's your best guess."

"I think Severus Snape told him of it."

Sirius's blood froze in a single instant. He had _not_ just heard that. He _hadn't_. Merlin, he must have heard wrong. A quick look at Dumledore showed the man very pale, even in the near darkness. That couldn't mean what he thought it did. It _couldn't_.

"Why?"

"The Dark Lord gave me the prophecy search task soon after Snape requested a private audience with him."

"When was this?"

"Last summer."

"_When_ last summer."

"I don't remember."

Regulus rubbed his chin, leaning against the back of the large chair/couch... thing behind him. "He probably obliviated that part too. He was probably going to erase everything about the prophecy but I stopped him in time. Too bad he didn't just block the memories. I might have been able to recover something."

The agent spoke. "So those things do exist. Do they actually come true?"

"Honestly, given how many of them still languish in the DOM, I'd say they don't really matter." He seemed to remember something. "Rookwood did you find the correct prophesy orb Voldemort wanted?"

"Yes."

"What were the names on it?"

"The dark lord was one. The other was a question mark."

"So it's even vaguer than I thought," the wizard mused, then addressed his partner again. "The thing is that prophesies never turn out quite like interpreters believe, which is probably because _no one_ should try to interpret it except the Seer who makes it. Personally I think it does more harm than good to act based on what you think a prophesy says, whether you think it's about you or otherwise. But then I never took Divination."

"There's a class for that?"

"Yes, but it's useless mostly, unless you ARE a seer, in which case you probably don't really need the class anyway."

"So let me get this straight," the nonmagical spun his gun around his finger. "This Dark Lord of yours either learned of a prophesy that said he'd become invincible or something if he murdered that baby... Or he learned of a prophesy predicting his downfall and made it come true when he tried to prevent it by murdering the kid."

"Pretty much."

"And you say that if he'd bothered to ask the seer for a interpretation, he might have avoided this lethal embarrassment."

"That's right."

"But why would only the original seer's interpretation matter?"

To which Regulus did something Sirius feared he'd never see him do again: he geeked out. "Because whether they remember making the prediction or not, the information, while it may come from outside, still has to translate in concepts the seer understands and works with." He started pacing. "For instance, say this prophesy is about the Dark Lord like Rookwood says?" He waved his wand, and nonverbally conjured a white globe in the air, with "The Dark Lord" and "?" etched on its surface. "What Dark Lord is that? For all we know, it could mean anyone. It could mean Voldemort, sure-" the hall shuddered "-but it could also mean a noble lord that wears dark clothes, or has a dark reputation, or has dark skin. It might not even mean anyone alive. It might be about someone that hasn't even been born yet. Some of the prophesy orbs in the DOM are decades and centuries old." The globe vanished. "If the Seer, however, uses 'The Dark Lord' to describe Voldemort in his or her mind, then if he or she says the prophesy is about Voldemort, it must be."

Well, that actually made a lot of sense, Sirius thought.

"Now _my_ theory is that whoever made the prediction made it in front of Albus Dumbledore, because the DOM, which has a way of automatically detecting and recording the things as they happen, is very adamant about no one learning of the prophesies except those they are about, but they can't do anything about the ones there when the prophesy is made. Unless they erase their memory, but it's not exactly easy to do it on _that_ man of all people, and he does have some nifty titles granting him immunity from lots of rules us mere mortals must abide by. But I digress. Anyway, given the time when the Potters went into hiding, and my previous findings, Dumbledore must have told them of the danger, and I really hope, for his sake, that he told them the contents of the prophesy too. The thing that bothers me is that he wouldn't have been so worried, and the danger wouldn't have been so high, if he didn't _know_ for sure that Voldemort had learned of the prophesy."

He paused and addressed the unspeakable again. "Rookwood, was Voldemort specifically targeting the Potters?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's one less dilemma." The Black Phantom turned contemplative. "And Dumbledore somehow _knew_ Voldemort knew about it. I wonder..."

"What?" the agent asked.

But the wizard shook his head. "A mystery for another time maybe." He had one more question to ask their prisoner. "Do you know _anything_ that you think might be useful in getting Sirius Black out of Azkaban, even the tiniest bit?"

"No."

"Right," he sounded resigned. A silence fell then, during which Regulus stared at the unspeakable, possibly wondering what else he should ask. The he pointed his wand at his forehead and twisted. "Obliviate," was the last thing heard as the projection melted, the GMP shut down and the lights in the auditorium activated, marking the end of the unusual but very immersive evidence.

That explained why Rookwood lacked any recollection of those two weeks of his life when he was portkeyed to the Auror headquarters with a black ghost tattoo on his face.

It was almost 9 in the evening, so a recess was called until the time struck the hour.

"-. .-"

During the recess, Sirius noted an increase in the unrest of the audience, particularly in the Wizengamot booth. Augusta Longbottom, Tiberius Ogden and a few others from "light" families had walked over to the witness booth, essentially ganging up on Dumbledore, who must have been regretting his front seat now. Remus had moved away from the old headmaster after exchanging some heated words. Or rather he said something rather forcefully at Dumbledore and the latter tried to come across as placating only to utterly fail to appease the werewolf.

From what Sirius could see at that distance.

On the other side of the auditorium, a few levels higher, a couple of Wizengamot members were speaking rapidly to the three "interrogators," likely accusing them of being in cahoots with the defense and getting frustrated over their plausible deniability remaining, well, plausible.

Fortunately, the members of the press were content to sit in their seat now. They probably realized they already had more than enough material for weeks to come.

Finally, Amelia Bones called the hall to order. "This marks the end of the memory replay. Does the defense have any other evidence to produce?"

"Just one," Marius said, and his grin was worrisome, as was the relaxation in his movements as he opened his briefcase and pulled out... a wand case. "Simply because the Defense does not wish for there to be any chance of anyone contesting the evidence so far provided. I call upon Garrick Ollivander as witness."

The crazy man was _not_ just going to drop this bomb on top of everything else!

...was he?

"Mister Ollivander, you are the foremost wand maker in the British Isles, are you not?"

"That is what some consider me," the strange man answered noncommitaly.

"Is it true that you also remember every wand you've ever sold?"

"Every wand and the witch or wizard I sold them too, yes."

Marius removed the lid from the long casing, making the anxious and excited murmuring in the no longer silence hall increase significantly. "Do you recognize this one then?" He held the box out for the man to examine the wand.

Ollivander, who was in a front row seat conveniently enough, picked up the wand. It was a long, white thing, with a crooked handle. "Hmm, yes." he rotated it a few times. "Oh yes, definitely. Yew, 13 and a half inches with a phoenix feather core. Oh, if I'd known what this wand was setting out to do..."

"Who was the person that bought it?"

Ollivander dropped the wand back in the case. "Well, at the time, he was still called Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Nearby, Dumbledore blanched, as if he was only now making the connection.

"Ah yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle," Marius spoke the name slowly, testing it, and looked in the direction of the Wizengamot, particularly the pureblood supremacists clustered together. "A Half-blood, born to the near-squib Merope Gaunt, who was the result of generations of inbreeding. From Little Hangleton. The father was the nonmagical Tom Riddle, who she ensnared with a love potion because of her obsession with him, only to lose him later when she stopped applying the potion and the man wisened up to what had happened, fleeing during the night, possibly without ever learning the woman was with child, and out of wedlock too."

The words hung, heavy. Sirius knew what was coming.

"Then, when she went into labor, Merope dragged herself to the nearest orphanage and died in childbirth. Tom Marvolo Riddle would grow up there until the age of eleven, when he would receive a letter, brought by none other than..." His eyes sought the old man. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Is that correct, mister Dumbledore?"

"Yes," the headmaster sighed, his best mask in place.

Marius smirked in the direction of the pureblood bigot lords, but still addressed the Supreme Mugwump. "When did you realize the half-blood slytherin had played the purebloods and taken the alias Lord Voldemort?"

The explosion of noise was immediate. Sirius twitched in his chair, heart racing for a few seconds. He had to ask himself why the public was only reacting _then_. They should have realized what was coming as soon as Marius pulled out the wand case.

Then again, knowing how they like to bury their heads in the sand, it wasn't so shocking that they refused to acknowledge the embarrassing truth unless it was thrown in their faces.

And now the people were on their feet, getting rowdy. Some of the purebloods in the Wizengamot stands were voicing their shock and disbelief, and anger at the squib for telling such lies, though the man being yelled at regarded them stoically. Some from the spectator booth were leaning over the railing, shouting over one another. Seeing the brewing storm, reporters were starting to fuss as well, seeking good shots for photographs, and the frustration at being so far away from the action was likely to make them take their chances at leaving their appointed section.

Robards and Dawlish stepped up to stand in front of him, on either side of his chair. It was getting bad. The convict looked at the dais where the three women were, pleading with his eyes for them to do something. He saw Croaker half-grinning like he'd expected all of this, and Amelia and Millicent getting ready to start making noises with their wands, and pressing the button that would summon more aurors.

But it was all derailed by a mass cry of shock from the witness booth, where some of the Lords had come to voice their outrage and denial. Tom Riddle's wand had blasted out of its case and was hovering in the air. It spun around its mid-point, looking like a white blur, then suddenly stopped, only to shoot like a rocket straight for the memory bowl on the central pedestal.

There were loud gasps as the wand soared over it and flew several more meters, only to stop just as suddenly as it had launched into the air.

Then it twitched and flipped a few times, as though uncertain of what to.

It slashed the air horizontally, then vertically, leaving a "T" made of fire behind, one that flew away, growing as it did, until it was the size of a man.

Then an O.

Then an M.

And soon the full name was there.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

And as the world yelped and people shrieked, the wand swiped the air, like a fan, and the letters broke loose, rearranging.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Sirius stared at the sight, idly noting some women, and men, fainting. Probably believing Voldemort had just returned. It was amazing, how an anagram could make people wet themselves in fear.

Fortunately, the monster hadn't really come back. Instead, the wand hovered in the air, motionless, like an Immobulus had been cast at it. It flashed orange and red for a moment, and that was enough to make people quiet down, steadily, until nothing was heard and nothing but uneasy anticipation weighed the air down.

And when all was reasonably silent, the air shimmered, melted, and an open palm appeared beneath the floating wand. Then a black sleeve, and the rest of the man. Clad in black dragon skin armor. The black coat bearing the silver serpent on its back shimmered into sight around him, and the hood covered half his face, though the black void was not there. "It is amazing, isn't it?" Regulus Black idly noted in the dead silence that followed. "How a simple anagram can make people wet themselves in fear."

Before anyone could say anything, the wand, still suspended at shoulder-level above the Black Phantom's right hand, started spinning, extending the silence. It went slowly at first, then faster and faster, until it was like a white disk in the air. Each second that passed meant more time for the onlookers to stay calm and shut up. "In the Fall of 1981, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter sacrificed its Lord and Lady in order to break the power of the wizard Tom Marvolo Riddle, also going by the alias Lord Voldemort." There was no voice amplification spell, but he didn't need it. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black recognizes that, just like the rest of Magical Britain, it owes the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter a life debt for breaking the power of the half-blood deceiver."

Just like the rest of Magical Britain. Sirius tilted his head. That was a basically a challenge thrown at the world. Regulus had just _dared_ the whole world to say they owed House Potter nothing.

"The House of Black now pronounces the power of Tom Marvolo Riddle _ENDED_."

Wait, what?

The wand exploded in a shower of sparks, and bits of wood and dust and splinters. A wave of Regulus' now free hand blew the kindling away. "And as repayment for the debt, we dedicate our magic and out fortune solely to the safety, wellbeing and, most importantly, _happiness_ of Harry James Potter, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Griffindor-" The stunned silence finally broke, but only momentarily, and it did not deter the wizard from his speech. "-son and presumptive heir to the Noble and most Ancient House of Black," Sirius's mouth fell open like it never had before. Who the hell was Lord Black really? "Presumptive Heir to the Duke of Norfolk and Earl Marshall in the Peerage of England, the Earl of Arundel, and presumptive Heir to the Duke of Somerset-Beaufort, Baron Seymour in the Peerage of England."

The crowd stared, speechless, at how the young man completely derailed the purpose of the gathering.

"The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black unjustly spent seven years in a hell you created. House Black finds itself... displeased with this situation..." It was ominous. Even Sirius could admit it. "And thoroughly drained of lenience." The young man still had his hood on, but when he pinned the Wizengamot, and then Albus Dumbledore with his best glare, Sirius _felt_ the family magic awaken inside him, and his eyes shone blue-white from beyond the cowl's shadow. "Know this: we will no longer suffer fools. Those who interfere with the payment of our debt will be considered enemies and treated with extreme prejudice. Such is the will of Lord Black."

And before anyone could say or do anything, Regulus Arcturus Black _moved_, throwing a blasting curse at the pedestal, completely obliterating the bowl pensieve and the memory copies within. Then, as quick as he'd appeared, he turned with a dramatic flourish of his coat, and was gone less than a second later, a flock of ravens the only evidence that he was ever there.

Sirius sagged back in his chair as the birds scattered, filling the ensuing silence with the beats of their wings. It was almost instinct. Almost, but he did it right. He managed to scan the entire hall, and his sixth sense worked well for once. There, a single anomaly. Right above.

So he looked up. Regulus was standing upside down on the ceiling, clearly amused by the effect of his fleeting appearance. He felt him staring and gave a jaunty two-fingered wave, before he was gone again, for real this time.

Then the room _finally_ caught on to the fact that the Grand Memory Projector had just been vandalized.

Needless to say, pandemonium followed.

"-. .-"

Later, whenever someone asked, Sirius Orion Black would say, straight-faced, that it had all been Croaker's fault.

Not for Sirius being pronounced not guilty less than ten minutes later. That was a _good_ thing. A _very_ good thing. And if the verdict was rushed, no one mentioned it because the crowd was getting very, ahem, _excited_ about... everything. The "interrogators" were clearly seeking to wrap things up as soon as possible, so they decided to offer a rounded figure as compensation, in galleons.

Sadly for the rest of the world, it had not been too little time for Sirius to get a hold of himself. So when he was asked if 100,000 galleons a month was enough monetary compensation, he found himself asking himself _"Why should Reg and Marius have all the fun anyway?"_

So, naturally, he decided to do the Griffindor thing and brazenly say "No, not really."

Why _should_ he be blamed for taking Croaker's game of charades at face value? It was the guy's fault for mimicking the twisting of a spring when Sirius looked at him.

So in addition to the money load, he demanded a time turner. He'd given an awesome speech too. He'd even said something about having had seven years of his life stolen, and expecting to not be begrudged the wish of making the best of the next few.

His reasons were actually more justifiable than people might believe, based on being undecided in regards to the second job he had during the last couple of years of the war.

But regardless, those things weren't all that massive. Not alone and not put together. Neither was the press statement made by Bagnold, where she said that she knew well what was going to happen that day (Sirius rather doubted she expected Regulus' appearance, but he kept his mouth shut), and that the Black Phantom was used as a decoy topic, to prevent potential enemies of Sirius Black from trying to do anything malicious (which was also why the press was harsh on him during the two months leading up to the event, instead of favorable like it was expected to turn from now on).

Bagnold had even said she was aware that her office was being spied on, and had always known in fact, which she allowed to go on because she could control what everyone thought they knew that way.

The woman was barmy. For a Slytherin to just come up and say THAT, well, the only other word food for the situation was "mental." If nothing else, she'd go down in the history books as a very bold minister. Or a crazy one. Whichever worked.

It was almost enough to make him consider Amelia's continued professionalism an anchor for his sanity, but alas, no one _sane_ can consider hours of paperwork such. At least he finally got to eat something, even if it was rushed.

But he should have known, in retrospect, that things would get weird around him. Or rather Harry, because in the end this was all about him. He knew it now, beyond doubt. Amelia even had custody papers for him, which they would go over later. He wanted details, but he didn't get them because of... things.

Wanting to get his case over with as soon as possible, Amelia had Sirius and Marius brought to her office, where they both started processing all the necessary documents following the hearing. Since it was already 10 in the evening when he was exonerated, it took them till midnight to finish. Marius actually left around 11:30, when his help was no longer needed, but he promised Sirius they'd have a longer chat and meeting soon, and then handle the custody part.

00:00 became 00:01.

Which was when something exploded far below and shook the entire ministry. Hard.

Amelia told him to stay put, because it was surely an attack. Sirius wasn't about to miss out on whatever it was, especially since it was probably Regulus' fault, like everything else that had happened during the day. Amelia snapped at him that he wasn't allowed there. Sirius then sensibly pointed out that, just like he'd never been given a trial or read his rights, he was also never discharged from the force, because the paperwork never got that far, if it even existed, which meant that, technically, he was still an acting Hit Wizard, and he expected retroactive payments and cumulative benefits before he handed in his resignation next Tuesday.

Amelia gave him a weird look, as if she hadn't expected him to be capable of logic thought.

Sirius felt offended of course, and made sure to let her know on the way there. He also told her to lend him her spare wand "Because you _clearly_ have one, everyone with a brain in the Auror and Hit Wizard corps does."

She did, obviously.

Eventually, it turned out that it hadn't been an attack. Or if it was, they couldn't prove it. Croaker, one of the few Unspeakables still conscious, blandly informed them and the other aurors rushing to the scene that the Veil of Death had blown up for some reason. Or rather imploded. Just like that. Out of the blue. Completely randomly. Spontaneously even.

Sirius asked if he could see. Amelia glared at him, but Croaker informed them the room had completely collapsed in on itself, so that wasn't an option.

A more immediate concern, he said, was that the explosion disrupted a ritual that four Unspeakables were carrying out in the Time Room, leading to the destruction of the Time Turners.

Sirius groaned. Just his luck. Did fate hate him so much that someone had somehow KNOWN of his completely impulsive request and arranged for the destruction of the things? Maybe learned of it in just the past two hours? But his deliberate episode of self-pity was derailed when Croaker idly noted that one time turner had miraculously made it through. So he showed it to them, and then said he'd cast a special spell to check if it was in working order.

It turned out to be a misleading statement. The spell he cast was actually used to count the number of grains of sand inside.

5,184,000.

Then Croaker said that since that was the _only_ Time Turner left in the Department, he would have to make do with it.

Which was also misleading, as every Unspeakable had a safe house somewhere in London, and they each had a personal Time Turner there, held in place and protected by magic similar to the one protecting the prophecy orbs. So while there really _weren't_ normal Time Turners left in the DOM, there were plenty still available to the department for use.

Sirius, of course, said nothing about this. He'd have to be stupid to do something like that, when the Time Turner he had in his hands was so much better than all the others.

5,184,000.

It was a crazy thought, but somehow...

5,184,000.

Sixty days.

5,184,000.

And if he had any control over his magic, which was necessary for any wandless casting, he could even push the item to go a bit further than normal. In this case a day.

5,184,000.

Amelia left him alone in her office, to finish the rest of the paperwork, as she had to go "coordinate." She also couldn't allow him to leave as the MOM had gone into lockdown while the situation was resolved.

As soon as she was out the door, Sirius' contemplation of the Time Turner was interrupted by a "POP" right behind him. Somehow, he didn't jump in fright. Instead, he casually turned around, only to lay eyes on a house elf. A familiar house elf, with many folds of skin and white hairs hanging off his pale scalp, but a surprisingly clean pillow case covering him. "Kreacher? What are you doing here?" His appearance was so unexpected that Sirius forgot how much he hated the thing.

"Kreacher?"Or used to hate. He was in too great a mood to hate anything at the moment.

The elf had a shrunken trunk in his hands. "Kreacher be bringing package, yes." The creature hesitantly shuffled forward, holding out the box with wary eyes. "Package from Lord Black to Master Regulus's brother."

Well, that was a better name that filthy blood traitor at least. "Well, hand it over then."

The elf did, then popped away, almost before Sirius managed to get a good grip.

Now what? He didn't have Amelia's wand anymore, how was he supposed to unshrink it?

Kreacher popped in again. "Lord Black forget to send wand. Kreacher bring it now." And he held it out too. Sirius made sure to grab it better this time. Sure enough, Kreacher popped away just as fast.

Gods, how he used to hate that thing... er, person. If Lily was alive, she'd smack him... Lily.

James.

And just like that, the high he was riding from being released, from being _free_... left him as though he'd been dumped in cold water.

Deciding not to waste any more time, he tapped the trunk with his wand (it felt quite good in his hand despite not being his original one, as though Ollivander had chosen it specifically for him). The container returned to normal size, so Sirius opened the lid.

There was a small box and a letter on top, and something covered with a black sheet of packing paper beneath. He almost set the letter and box aside and looked through, but the envelope had "READ THIS FIRST" written on it rather strikingly.

So he opened it. It was a short note, telling him to open the case and view the memory first. Conveniently, Amelia had her pensieve in an unlocked cabinet because she'd been using it a lot lately.

Pouring the memory, he dove in.

Only to appear in the exact same place: Amelia's office. Only she was at her desk, studiously going through the torments of paperwork. It seemed to be late-afternoon. An unknown man, looking nondescript with his brown hair and eyes, and clean shaven, was standing a distance from her, not behind her (it wasn't a good idea to sneak up on an Auror, which he seemed to know) but not too far for her peripheral vision to notice him. "Greetings, Madam Bones."

Amelia surged from her seat and had her wand trained on him with respectable speed.

Then she took him in at a glance, and when she was about to demand to know who he was, how he'd gotten there and why, her eyes fell on the crest of the House of Black, proudly displayed on the right side of his chest, red, blue, black and silver contrasting with the dark green of the velvet robes.

The man had both hands together in front of him, holding a fairly thick folder. No head of house ring was visible, and Amelia spotted that easily. "Where is your ring, Lord Black? If that's really who you are?"

"I have not put it on yet. That will happen tonight, but I figured I may as well drop by early, to give you something interesting to do, now that you've become the new head of the DMLE." The man smiled. Sirius _knew_ that smile. It was cold and ruthless. "Depending on how you perform, you'll either become a hero... or you'll find that a certain supposed citizen of the Wizarding World will disappear so completely that even your Albus Dumbledore won't be able to find him."

Amelia's expression went fierce, though she paled somewhat, and the grip on her wand tightened. "What? Who? How... What do you mean? And how did you get in here?" She almost looked at the door, but stopped herself.

Lord Black inclined his head, face somber. "I am not here to make enemies, but I am at the edge of my patience and will not last long without doing something drastic." He slowly raised the folder and held it out to her. "Read this, and you'll understand."

Amelia didn't move.

So Lord Black rather inappropriately rolled his eyes and opened the folder, showing her a pair of pictures, of a young boy, small and thin, dressed in oversized rags. In one, he was pulling weeds. In another, he was being locked inside a cupboard, under the stairs, by a large, fat, whale of a man.

The boy had jet-black hair and a recognizable scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt.

Amelia took the folder with shaking hands and fell back in her chair.

The memory ended, expelling a Black Heir that was rather... put out.

Quickly, he knelt by the trunk and pulled out the paper. What he found was the last puzzle pieces that finally made everything that happened the previous day, and those whole two months, make sense.

The dress robes bearing the crest of the House of Black.

And a flask of polyjuice potion, with a few hairs taped to it.

Sirius Orion Black looked at the contents, and smiled. Though if there was anyone to see him, they would not call it a smile. They would describe it as a broad grin, Cheshire-like. The type that would make grown men run in fear.

He stood. "Kreacher!"

The elf appeared with a crack. "Yes, Master Sirius?"

"Robe me."

"As master commands." The elf snapped his fingers, and house elf magic easily switched Sirius' robes with the formal ones.

"You may go."

Kreacher did.

Ten minutes later, after skimming through the folder and curbing the homicidal impulses stirred by the photos, everything but tree things was packed and stored in the trunk, now to small size and snugly waiting in pocket: the papers, the clothes he was wearing, and a galleon that a note said was a one-time portkey keyed to the ministry wards. Very illegal.

Sirius totally approved.

After drinking the foul-smelling potion and waiting for his appearance to change, he picked up the time turner from where it had been lying on the desk, pulled the chain over his head and loosened the pin.

One grain turned time back one second.

The new, and formerly only, time turner in Great Britain's Department of Mysteries held a total of 5,184,000.

One turn for ten days.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Sirius narrowed his eyes and smirked, readying his magic. It wasn't recommended, but who needed caution anyway?

Six.

He physically let go of the hourglass, and mystically _pushed_ the artefact to go that one, small step further.

Then the office was empty, and Amelia Bones ran into Sirius Orion Black one floor below, on the corridor leading to the ministry cafeteria.

And on the afternoon of May 31, 1988, Lord Black suddenly appeared in the office of the new head of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Greetings, Madam Bones."

Her reaction was even better in real life.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this, then flummox her by portkeying out of there with the galleon that Croaker was most likely responsible for. Crazy old man.

"-. .-"

The Maruaders were the best prankers in history.

That was fact, and anyone who said otherwise always learned not to disagree the hard way.

But for all their brilliance, there was _one_ thing that none of the Marauders ever managed to do: prank their own persons. Personally.

James even experimented once, in third year. Well almost. Fortunately, he was going to try it at home, and Charlus Potter walked in on him while he was about to Obliviate himself, hoping to forget about the traps he set up, and see how it went. Sirius now thought the family magic had compelled Charlus to check on them, thus saving the heir from his own stupidity. The ensuing lecture was one of the few times Charlus Potter ever yelled, at James for being stupid enough to want to try something that could leave him permanently mentally damaged, and at Sirius, Peter and Remus for not stopping him.

It had been a very scary day, and they'd taken Charlus Potter's words to heart. And they'd been many, about the spell, how dangerous it would be to try on one's own mind, nevermind that the spell was too advanced for them to even attempt at that point.

It still didn't stop James from believing he was the best of the Marauders though. He argued that just having the idea mattered.

Sirius knew otherwise. _He_ was the best, and now he was going to prove it. _Had_ proven it, by becoming the first and only Marauder to successfully prank himself.

Completely.

The door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place swung open as soon as he put a foot on the steps. The family home, the Family Magic was there, welcoming him, drawing him in. It didn't need to really. He was headed towards the pull anyway.

He didn't break stride when he was inside. Not even to comment on the remarkably well kept state of the home. He knew his mother had died three years before. He'd expected the place to be a dump, in shambles, infested with dark things.

Well, this would make things easier at least.

"Hello mother dearest!" He said breezily, not even looking at the painting as he walked along. Whatever the woman was about to say, he didn't care. His destination lay elsewhere.

He spun the doorknob and stepped in.

Ah yes, the Black Family Tapestry room. Perfect for contemplating existence; for admiring the wonder of magic that is the moving, evolving tapestry tied into the family tree of the House of Black; and the _only_ place where you can throw a tantrum and disown people left and right, because a cousin leaves your shameful son money; because said firstborn didn't want to join a Dark Wanker, in spite of your best efforts, including using the Imperius curse on him at the age of 16 to send him on muggle massacres and raids with other would-be death eaters.

Gods, how he hated that woman.

Or at least used to. Now, he just loathed what she stood for, but he realized that this place, this house didn't _have_ to stand for what she did. It didn't _have_ to stay a den for the dark. It could be a home. Not home _again_, since it never had been one for him. But it could become one.

He lifted his palm and readied his wand.

Yes, it could become one. He'd _make_ it one.

"Familiae Magia."

It came, quickly, like warmth upon a summer breeze. The Potter crest appeared, and next to it the crest of Black, like the morning air, right after a night's rain almost indistinguishable from the dew. He looked at the former sadly, and bowed his head in respect.

It faded.

The wand speared the Black crest. "I, Sirius Orion Black, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, by right of name, by right of blood and right of magic, pronounce the Transcendental Compact _broken_." The crest of blood and mist erupted, lightning dancing through and from it. It coursed through him, but harmed him not, cloaking him in light and thunder. Waiting for his words, his _challenge_.

Stepping near the tapestry, he began to write runes, runes he'd learned when he went through the inheritance rites, years before. "The House of Black failed to stay true to itself when its foremost sons and daughters presented themselves before a madman on bended knee." All in blood, the runes went, one on the faces of each family member still alive and intact on the family tree. "The House of Black failed to live up to its potential by believing it should exist in spite of the world rather than for it." Arcturus, Pollux, Cassiopeia, Narcissa. They were all _guilty_ of that. "And finally, the House of Black _failed_ to watch out for its own when it abandoned its heir to hell on Earth."

He could feel the power responding, inside and around him. Even as he stepped away and walked to the other end of the wall, where the branches all sprung from, it hummed behind his eyes. A rush like a spray of snow covered his left, cut-open palm, moving the blood, gathering it, shaping it in the design, a pentagram within a diamond.

He slammed it right on top of the root of the tree_. _"I charge Arcturus Corvus Black, Head of Black with negligence! I charge him with both proactive prejudice and apathy! By my name, my blood and my right, I, Sirius Orion Black, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of black, deem him unfit to be the head of this family and demand that he be held accountable!"

The blood was pulled out of him, and he almost fell, growing weak at the knees for the second time in the past 12 hours, but he stubbornly held on as the life pooled out, coursing like sieve through the trunk and branches, reaching the leaves and flowers, linking with the runes. The red became white, then gold then red again, and finally it transcended the physical, _becoming_ magic, the blue-white thunder, the family spirit.

Internally, he laughed at the many that would say this was impossible, that it should be impossible to both be and not be, Lord Black, to be Both Lord Black and the Heir of Black. He almost wished someone was there to tell him so, if only he could them that it wasn't any less possible than his lawyer telling him about the beetle reporter so he could go back in time and tell said lawyer the information so he could later tell him about it.

The light overtook him, as it came from within. It shone through the cut on his palm, streaming through the tapestry, and it poured from his eyes, crackling through the air. And even as he gave from his life, he gazed at the skull above his brother's name, and knew that it would not show that for much longer. He could change it. Like this whole family he could change it. _Would_ change it. Just like he managed to learn Rita's secret without finding out about it. Just like his blood-soaked hand still had strength enough to force his will upon the tapestry.

Fuck the impossible!

His fingers coiled around the root wheel of the tree and _twisted_. "Patrisfamilias Ars Magica!"


	11. Chapter 10: As Black as My Name

**Chapter 10: As Black as My Name**

"-. .-"

There were those who believed that legends were just that: legends. Stories meant to put young children to sleep and instill values, or in some cases _fear_, in them early on. Yet there were also those who knew better. Especially in the Magical World, legends were seldom _just_ legends. For muggles, Arthur Pendragon was history and Merlin was myth. For wizards, Merlin was the closest equivalent to christians' Jesus of Nazareth, only lacking the gentle, conflict-avoiding persona.

Nevertheless, even for those who were supposedly mystically aware, facts sometimes became "just" legends in the minds of the masses because of how long ago they happened. Some because of how outlandish they seemed. Some never even made it to "legend" status because they were secrets guarded closely by old families.

Some were outright secrets because all the above applied to them.

And of _those_, some were knowledge lost because at some point in the timeline, a Head of House perished before getting the chance to pass on the most important knowledge. Or simply chose not to, wrongly believing there was nothing true about the tales spun by their forebears, or having some other, misguided reason to bury the secret.

And with the secret, knowledge of _how_ certain things worked faded as well, until just a smattering of the remaining Noble and Most Ancient Houses still had an inkling.

House Black was among those few, yet it was even more wretched in that it was leery of exercising the higher magic that was its right. It was a mistake perpetrated by the house heads of the past five generations. Arcturus Corvus Black himself, or Arcturus Black the Third, spent quite some time explaining the rites of blood adoption, blood feuds, judgment and enforced obeisance, but did not touch upon the other, more important aspects of the family magic, or the reason the real crest was different from the shield heraldry. The downtrodden heraldry with a hand wielding a sword against a red background in the upper half, and three ravens against a white background below.

More importantly, he did not specify the _source_ of these powers at all. Sirius didn't even think there was a special source. He didn't really have much room to think really, in the whirlwind of emotion and confusion that dominated his state of mind on the day he turned 9, when his grandfather did the Heir Appointing ceremony from, as it appeared to him back then, out of the blue.

The old man never did realize just what he'd started with that.

Truth be told, it never actually clicked with Sirius until his blood-soaked hand gripped the root sigil of the tapestry tree and _twisted_. The runes he'd written in blood flashed blue and disappeared from sight.

In an ironic turn of fate, the lightheadedness that came over him when the blood rushed out through the cut on his palm allowed him to, for the first time after seven wretched years in Azkaban prison, take one, _clear_ look at his entire life. And rather than latch onto his guilt over Halloween 1981, or the astonishment and self-recrimination caused by the revelations during the trial -no, _hearing-_ he'd suffered through just hours before -_months in the future_-, his thoughts zoomed in on a puzzle he'd been steadily completing his entire life.

A puzzle he'd never realized he'd been working on until that very moment.

"Familiae Magia."

It had started with small things. Before the Heir ceremony even. He'd dream of odd visions, which he mostly ignored as he lived through the overhanging dourness that was his life. Then he'd find odd objects around the house, like tiny wall decorations and figurines that had ended up on the floor, even though Sirius knew Grimmauld Place didn't use those sorts of sculptures anywhere. The small figurines or bas-relief pieces depicted things and scenes that make him ask questions of his father, whenever he was in a welcoming mood (which basically meant he wasn't _quite _as aloof as usual). Later, after Sirius' attitude began to turn antagonistic in the face of the... punishments... and he stopped initiating non-hostile conversations with anyone who wasn't Regulus, he started to frequent the library looking for answers.

His parents left him alone when he was in there, believing the "heritage" of their family would make him gain some sense. It made him find sense alright. As he kept turning away from the dark magic texts in disgust, for some reason intrinsically repulsed by them, Sirius started finding odd ones, somehow ending up reading tomes or scrolls that he never seemed to find again during later visits.

Things about old alliances, great feats that put Arcturus' Order of Merlin to shame. More information about the ancient bloodlines than he ever thought he'd want to know, but which he soaked eagerly, because they were the only things that didn't make him feel resentful of his family. They were almost enough to make him think it was worthwhile to be a Black.

Almost.

And there was _one_ very important detail that almost gave his grandfather a conniption fit when said House Head learned that Sirius had asked his father Orion about it: The House of Black was among the original 108 British families that had entered something called The Transcendental Compact which preceded the times of King Arthur by four decades.

Arcturus had come over and basically locked himself in the huge library for four days, getting food through the house elves. After he came out, tired but no less severe, he summoned Sirius and looked at him for a long minute. Then he slowly asked where he'd read those words and when. Sirius answered, stuttered more like, expecting the information to be torn out of his head, but no Legilimency probe ever came. The old man asked what he knew of the meaning, to which Sirius answered, just as truthfully, nothing. Then Arcturus just turned around and left without another word.

That had been when he was thirteen, and Sirius didn't, at the time, realize the man had left the library empty-handed.

And then, at 14, he learned just _why_ the Head of the House of Black had been so thoroughly thrown off balance by the words "Transcendental Compact."

"Patrisfamilias Ars Magica!"

Tapestries were a wonder of magic. They somehow knew when a new family member was born, they could tell if the family members were alive or dead. They updated themselves independently. Each time an offspring came to be, a new branch would grow, a bud would sprout, yet instead of a flower a face would form. It was never an accurate _likeness_ of the person, but rather a figure that conveyed the character. And when a member bonded through marriage, a second face would appear, as part of the same "flower."

"Deficio Familia!"

Sirius pulled the circular sigil out of the root of the grand oak. The piece of blood-soaked obsidian came out slowly, grinding against the stone of the wall. As soon as it was out, the tree on the tapestry withered and died. It started with the face on the trunk, that of Phineas Nigellus Black. It shriveled, blackened and crumpled, turning to ash. The phenomenon spread to the right where the more ancient members of the house were listed, and to the left where the recent generations were.

And when it was over, the green wallpaper shriveled as well, tears marring it, until it, too, was nothing but loose threads and pieces, then dust that fell like sand, heavier than the air.

In that moment, the House of Black was no longer. He'd charged the Head of the Family with incompetence, and by pulling out the heartstone, he'd essentially declared his belief that the members of the family would be better off on their own, fending for themselves. They'd practically been doing that for many years already.

That he'd been _allowed_ to go so far meant that whatever force controlled the family magic was willing to let him decide if the world would be better off with the line gone. All he'd have to do was say "I now pronounce the line of Black ended" and the sigil would vanish into the ether, along with the right to hold a Wizengamot seat, along with the Family Magic and all spells and wards that drew on it, and the name of Black itself. The scions and elders would be left nameless, repudiated, bereft of social standing. Only the so-called material wealth would remain, a meager consolation all things considered.

"Open in the name of the Lord Ascendant."

The split appeared, right in the middle. The wall was cut in half and swung outward, the ancient mechanism producing an ominous noise. It opened into a darkened tunnel where no torches existed to light the way, but which held no stairs. It was a smooth, winding slope where none could stumble if they had the confidence to not falter in their stride.

It was the same as when he was awoken in the middle of the night, when he turned fourteen, and was compelled to follow the same path. Although the tapestry hadn't disintegrated then. It had rolled aside and the walls had opened of their own accord.

Sirius Orion Black stepped into the darkness.

Past the wall where the tapestry was until a minute before.

Past the place where the family tree of Black was supposed to always be, but was not anymore.

The cut on his palm was raw and wide, seeping blood, but he knew none of it reached the floor. Not one drop escaped the pull of the sigil held in that hand. By all accounts the bleeding should be making him weaker, but the further deep he got, walking down the spiral path, the lighter he felt, as though something else was holding him up. Uplifting him. Before, it had pulled him onward. Now it kept him up, his frame and heart light. Soothed in the conviction that _this_ time it would all go _right._

He saw nothing, not even himself, no matter how close to his eyes he brought his hand, but he knew when he reached the bottom of the spiral path. When he finally stepped out of the pitch black darkness and into the light that could be seen not. It was a perfectly round chamber, he knew, with a domed ceiling. Not carved, but _shaped_ by magic and nature. _Grown_ in that shape, perfectly smoothed but not polished. The same as the sigil in his hand, and made of the same material. All thanks to the Ley Line the chamber was in the middle of.

And yet none of that could be seen to normal eyes.

His boots softly echoed against the obsidian beneath him, and he released a soft breath of relief when his body finally could be seen again, previously invisible in the dark. He was clearly defined, as though he were standing under the mid-day sun, yet in the center of a bottomless, boundless dark void all the same. There was _light_ in that place. Much of it, yet none of it reflected off the walls.

All around him was black. As black as his name.

There was no whisper in the air, unlike last time, on his 14th birthday. No swirling motes and mist of light. No vision of to tell him it had been _her_ that pulled him there. To explain that the Transcendental Compact was a bond made by the 108 families with ascended beings, one for each line. One to act as a beacon, a light, a pull, an _intuition_ that would always show them the path most worth traveling, and to come to their aid when asked by a worthy Paterfamilias._ Toujours Pur._

There were no shadows, because there was no color, and no light to produce them, so there were no shapes either, anywhere but on his own person.

Except for one. A small, round cavity, right in front of him. It pulsed with light, both blue and white. In concert with his heartbeat, and the beat of the Earth as it thrummed through the Ley Line.

The normally jaunty marauder, for once, held himself solemnly, and the shadow of Azkaban receded in the face of the magnitude of what he'd just done, what he was about to do.

Slowly getting on one knee, he reached forward and carefully pushed the blood-covered heartstone in its rightful place. The obsidian slid easily in its place, and the blue-white light went out. An echo of sorts made itself felt, though it was not actually sound. With that, the dark void was perfect. Unmarred.

Nothing else seemed to happen, even after he got back to his feet, but he simply waited. Standing tall, his gaze settled on a spot right in front of him, eager anticipation and a strange vindication welling up inside him all at once.

"Gather, wayward sons and daughters."

The silence shattered.

"Gather, that you may witness the reckoning of your House."

A circle of runes written in light flared to view around him, on the stone underneath his feet. Arcs of lightning burst up and outward, mixing together, filling the air with what sounded like the calls of hundreds of birds. They stretched out and farther, dancing, sliding, coursing on and through the edges of the stone. They reached to and through him, seeing, feeling, _knowing_. Revitalizing. Relentless. _Euphoric_.

"Gather!" He shouted, clenching his fists. The lightning filling the darkness thickened, covered him. He felt it under and on his skin. He saw and _knew_ it pouring out of his eyes, shining out of his throat as he spoke. "That you may witness judgment!"

Lines spread from the circle of light on the ground. One shot forward, ending in another circle, like the first. Magic coalesced above it, white becoming red and green, then blue as the portal shimmered into place, seeking its target. Two more shot from the circle at his feet, curved like the veins of a leaf, to the right of the first, again rending conduits in reality. A fourth line sprung, shooting towards the left, ending in a fourth circle, as bright and unrelenting as the others. Then a fifth line surprised him by springing into life as well, leaving the leaf symmetrical, with him at the base.

The lightning persisted, scouring everything, crackling with unrestrained abandon. Wind kept blasting him relentlessly, keeping his long, curly hair out of his face, and causing his black cloak to flap and flutter. Yet there was still direction, plenty of it. He felt it coming. The anchor in the portal ahead of him, the life force of the one at the other end. The shock of the event, the reflexive but futile struggle-

Thunder.

Arcturus Corvus Black stumbled as the portal dropped him in his place and disappeared. The old man's ostentatious robes were caught underfoot and he barely avoided falling over himself, magic preventing him from leaving his circle. His landing left him with his back turned, so it was all he could do to look around wildly, awed and too taken aback by the maelstrom of lightning to feel fear. And his shock only got bigger when he finally spun around and laid his steel-grey eyes on the silver ones of the heir he'd never cast out. Eyes unseen behind the electrical outpour in them.

Sirius found himself oddly focused on the sight of his grandfather, old but still straight-backed, with a wizened face but hair still perfectly black, line a raven's feathers, fitting given his name. Maybe because he didn't really know what to think about him now. Sirius had never told anyone, but he'd always felt a bit hurt by how easily his grandfather hand handed him over to Charlus Potter. Like he didn't really matter to the family all that much, never mind that he was supposed to be the heir. The heir Arcturus himself had chosen over his own son. That he'd fled the family _first_ didn't amount to much in his state of heart at the time.

Still, as much as the man had failed to be there for him, he'd never actually _actively _hurt him either, unlike his so-called parents. Mother especially-

Thunder.

Then a third time. Then a fourth, fifth, sixth and, finally, seventh. The cries of shock and panic mingled with those of disbelief and even aggravation. His great-aunt Cassiopeia always did have a short fuse, but their shouts were nothing compared to the lightning storm, the vortex roaring around them.

He didn't need to look at them to know they were staring at him in open-mouthed shock. Still, he let his eyes roam over them anyway. Narcissa turned from awed to startled when she recognized him through the thunder aura. Cassiopeia had her perpetual frown on, but her shock was blatant all the same. Pollux, his maternal grandfather, looked flabbergasted, and the last person...

Lucretia Aurora Prewett nee Black? "Why hello there, dear aunt!" He was honestly surprised to see her there. So surprised that he almost missed the reverberations in his own voice. "I honestly didn't expect you to join us, but you're welcome to witness all the same."

"... Sirius?" Narcissa finally found her voice. Her utterance was joined by soundless mouth movements from the others.

But before he could decide whether or not to ignore her, he sensed his great-aunt Cassie about to put her foot in her mouth, so he turned his most vicious glare on her and was satisfied to see her oncoming bluster popped like a balloon before it surfaced. Albeit a huge gossip as far as the world knew, the woman had always been a bit of a harridan towards family. It figured that she'd be the one brazen enough to think she might try and assert herself during a time like this. Arcturus probably would have tried to demand an explanation, once the shock of seeing lightning-Sirius wore off, but he, out of everyone there, _knew_ what was happening. What all of that _meant_.

The lightning storm eased, but only just. The cloak of crackling light receded somewhat, allowing his facial expressions to be more easily discerned. The light from his eyes dimmed, permitting his silver grey eyes to show. "I, Sirius Orion Black," but the echo in his words did not go away, "Scion and Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, have summoned you, Narcissa Carina, Cassiopeia Columba, Pollux Perseus and Lucretia Aurora, to witness the judgment of Arcturus Corvus, erstwhile Lord of the House of Black." He felt the wish to speak bubbling in all but Lucretia and Arcturus. "And you will stand witness _silently_!"

They did.

The magic made sure of it. And as it did it, the young scion mused with some wry amusement that he was the youngest out of everyone there but had just told them all to shut up.

Or almost everyone. "Sirius..." Arcturus breathed, but found no other words to utter.

The grandson in question narrowed his eyes but did not smile or smirk. There were laughing matters, but this was not one of them. He raised his right hand, extending his index finger until he was pointing at the older man. It came up slowly, because he couldn't help but be reminded of the risks of this. Calling judgment on another couldn't be done without accepting judgment yourself.

There was no hesitation though. If being held in Azkaban for 7 years despite being innocent didn't give him some leeway here, he didn't know what would. "I, Sirius Orion Black, son and Heir of the House of Black, by right of name, of blood and of magic, charge Arcturus Corvus Black with dereliction of duty!"

Thunder roared once more, suffusing the walls, though they saw it not.

"Through your inaction you allowed the sons and daughters of your house to delve in magics most foul!" With each word, his voice raised. "Through willful neglect you encouraged a daughter of your house to bow and kiss the robe of a deceiver and coward that fled from death as readily as he fled from his own name!" The magic crackled between them at his description of Bellatrix, making the ones watching flinch. "Through negligence" Sirius motioned with his head towards Narcissa "You left the daughter if your house with no guidance, and because of it she ended up passively supporting her spouse as he bowed and scraped before a status-less bastard son of a muggle!"

It was a risk, he knew. He didn't really care about those things, but he _did _care that Voldemort paraded himself as the pureblooded descendent of Salazar Slytherin. He _cared_ that the magic of judgment would have lashed out against him if he knowingly spoke falsehood.

It didn't lash out, understanding why he spoke what he did. Now Narcissa had no room to doubt the gravity of his words, or the Truth.

In front of him, Arcturus watched, his eyes intense. Sirius didn't know if he should be surprised. He figured he'd be prepared for the man lashing out, shouting, voicing his outrage at a youngling like him presuming to judge him. But instead the old man stood tall and grim-faced, waiting, accepting everything. The magic vortex stretched from Sirius and divided, corralling them both in its unwavering embrace, coursing around one and the other like the symbol of infinity. Both of them enveloped, suffused in it. Both giving themselves over to its impartial examination. There was an awareness there, an existence than transcended them _all_.

So Sirius spoke on. "Through willful blindness you made it so this family had to exist in _spite_ of this world rather than _for_ it!" Thunder. "And because of that a son of your house was forced to exist in spite of _it_ in turn!" It was Regulus he was talking about, not himself, though he could tell they didn't see it. "Through passively condoning the actions of your son and daughter-in-law, you cost the House of Black its Heir by right of blood, of name, of magic! And when he was betrayed and imprisoned unjustly, for seven, hellish years, you again did _nothing_!"

The lightning on the wall thickened, as did the malestrom enveloping them. It bent and shaped itself into the true heraldry of the family before cracking and melting back into the controlled chaos of before.

"With all of this, I charge you Arcturus Corvus Black. Of all this I deem you responsible." His voice got colder with every word. "Do you deny it?"

No answer, though the other man's eyes never left his.

Sirius held out his right arm, the fingers of his hand all extended forward, and intoned. "Familiae Magia." The world trembled and the lightning slowed to a crawl. It was a bizarre and beautiful, astonishing sight. Light almost frozen in time. He gazed at it in reverence, but returned his attention to his grandfather. Whatever remorse or reservations he might have had were banished by the surety that if he was doing wrong, the magic would not stand for it. "Voco Patrisfamilias Eversus."

Silence.

Timeless.

Those were the words that described what followed the proclamation. All sound stopped and the light and thunder looked like spectral glass.

And Sirius spoke, but he was not himself. They were not his words, yet he let them come. "**So** **decreed**." Arcturus' right hand snapped outward of its own volition, his fingers extended, like his heir's. His wide eyes darted from his head of house ring to Sirius' face and back. "**So witnessed**."

The head of house ring flew off the finger of Arcturus black, but it did not reach the challenger. It stopped mid-way between them, right in the crux of the reviving storm. The figure eight that had formed around the two broke apart, flowed outward, washing over the both awed and fearful onlookers. Immobilized, both the young and old men stayed with hands outstretched, as though in a contest of wills, with the ring of platinum with onyx signet hovering mid-way.

It spun once.

Then again, and a third time, then picked up speed until it was a blurry sphere, with streaks of black and white at first, and then a silvery hue that gained a spark, a shine that grew and grew again.

Then burst.

A shockwave, a cloud of multicolored motes of light that melted into a recollection not unlike those that Sirius had watched in the courtroom until hours before -months in the future.

It was himself, at fourteen. He didn't think he'd ever seemed so confused, but he supposed the specter standing five feet in front of him was enough of an extenuating circumstance. And not because she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"Greetings, young heir."

He'd forgotten just how soothing the witch with the worst PR service in history sounded.

"Hello." Sirius internally cheered. His younger self hadn't stuttered, and the wide-eyed bafflement looked awesome on him, like everything else really. "Who are you?"

"I am the shunned and scorned guide of this house, your family." The beautiful woman somehow managed to convey aggravation, sadness and fond patience while staying barefaced. "But in life, I was known as Morgan la Fey."

The projection disintegrated, magic spinning and reforming. He used the chance to meet the eyes of the others, and he was satisfied to see them so completely astounded and unsure of themselves.

Then the mists formed another recollection, and his buoying mood sank. "What do you think you are doing?!" His mother shrieked at him as she followed him into a side-room. "How dare you walk out on that august gathering! Don't you realize what kind of honor you are being offered by Lord Nott on behalf of the Dark Lord!?"

"He's no Lord of Mine!" The 15 year-old Sirius snarled. Of all the Christmases and Yule gatherings, that had been the worst ever, not even counting that his father had fallen ill earlier that year. "_Disgusting_ that you would bow to that filth, and expect me to do the same! Toujours Pur my ass!" Walburga made to slap him but he caught her wrist. "I am saddened, _mother_." He spat. "It seems your decrepit frame cannot muster the effort to show proper affection. Maybe you should retrieve father's whip instead!"

Shoving her away, he stormed out of the room.

Sirius kept his eyes on the image, but didn't really watch the rest. He remembered it vividly on his own. How he shut himself in his room, hoping beyond hope the "upstanding" people in the ballroom would leave. How he was surprised to hear the secret knock Regulus hadn't used since his first year. He'd been so nonplussed that he actually went and opened the door.

Walburga was there, holding Regulus rather tightly by the shoulder. The betrayed look Sirius he shot his brother was all the opening his mother needed to point his wand at him. "Imperio. You will go with the dark lord's followers and fully participate in the initiation hunt. And you will enjoy it." Then she quickly turned it on Regulus. "Obliviate. Thank you for convincing your brother to stop sulking, son. Run along now."

Sirius' eyes widened in shock. His brother's oblivation was _one_ detail he didn't remember even now.

He crucioed a 20 year-old nonmagical woman that night, in front of her husband. Then he killed her with a cutting curse to the neck while the others tortured, raped or murdered whoever else they dragged out of the random village that was on the list for that night. Mostly they kidnapped victims for the revel that would happen the next day. Age and sex didn't matter.

He threw off the imperius when he turned his wand on the man and saw the terror and devastation over his loss being overpowered by disgust and hatred as he looked at him. He froze, and the others assumed he was just savoring the experience of his first prey, so they didn't pay attention as he lagged behind. They stunned and dragged the man with them. He never did learn what happened to him.

Sirius had run. And run and run, then vomited in the woods, and run some more, for hours. He didn't know how he got home, except that he caught the Knight Bus somehow. At the time, all he could think was that he'd have to leave, run away. But in his stupidity, instead of running straight to James' family for help, he went home to get his things and find the two-way mirror to contact his friend and brother.

Which was where the maelstrom of family magic decided to pick up the recollections. Just as he was frantically digging through his school trunk looking for the mirror, the door to his bedroom was blasted inward. It flew and fell all over him, hitting him in the head. Dazed, he was easy pickings for his dear _mother's_ cruciatuses. Then she ended it with a memory charm and made him think he'd just suffered one of the standard sessions of "discipline" for disagreeing to go with the other would-be death eaters.

The memory charm didn't break until the next summer, which was where the projection jumped, when he got into another row with his mother over his refusal to become a Death Eater. They actually ended up exchanging spells in the middle of the tapestry room, and when Walburga saw how outmatched she was, she screamed for Kreacher and had him help her subdue him. Then she began the cruciatus "discipline." The memory charm broke at the fourth time the curse was cast, and his angry tears spilled out at the sixth because that was how long it took for the enormity of the situation to set in. In the projection, his returning memories appeared like ghostly images on the walls and the living tapestry.

He never really recalled how he managed to overpower his mother, but now he got see it. How he curled in on himself, clawed at his own face and released an abject scream of utter devastation, just like Padfoot did years later when James and Lily died, only in a man's voice. The family magic surged around him like a thousand bolts of Zeus's wrath. It smashed the furniture, burned the wallpaper and hurled the woman into the opposite wall, holding her there until her screams overwhelmed his own. Kreacher's survival was a miracle, all things considered.

Then the teenager staggered to his feet, held up by the blue aura more than by his own power. He stumbled to where his wand was, picked it up and turned dead eyes on the woman that had brought him to this world. Gods, how he hated her then, even more than he hated her now. It was haunting to watch his 16 year-old face, tear-stained, bruised and cut, staring at the spasming woman with eyes more hollow than Azkaban had left them after seven long years.

He said nothing. He just stared at the wretched piece of filth that was his supposed mother. Stared in her eyes with that empty, haunted look for a long, long time. Sirius remembered how much he wanted to kill her, to hurt her like she'd hurt him so many times. How he wanted to yell at her, strike her, torture her.

But instead he dropped his arm to his side. "Your one mistake was leaving me alive."

And left.

The memory mists dispersed when he exited the room, surprisingly steady on his feet even after the family magic disappeared. Sirius recalled that he didn't even stop by his room or anything of the sort. Just walked out the door, called the Knight Bus, said his destination and never looked back.

It was eerie, how he could feel the surface emotions of the ones bound to the runic array. Shock was prevalent of course, revulsion was second. There were smatterings of pity here and there, some sympathy too, but the strangest one was shame. Sirius couldn't tell which came from whom, but the shame was almost overpowering in its concentration. He wondered if it wasn't just his own he was feeling. What was the point of the higher consciousness showing these people those events?

Dimly, the Heir of Black noted that, while the signet ring was still hovering in the center of the runic circle, his right arm had fallen to his side, as had his grandfather's. His grandfather. The man looked so pale, and the expression he wore could almost be classified as self-loathing. Sirius wasn't sure. It wasn't like he'd spent that much time with the man.

The lightning coursing through the void-like room had become a background thing. Closer, just beyond the watchers, was something else now, something more akin to a cloud of white and blue raw energy. It converged and lightly brushed against his back, then came just that bit closer, engulfing him completely for a moment. It was like a soothing caress. It let him shake off the hollow gaze he'd fallen into, a perfect replica of the one his younger self had worn minutes before. He couldn't help but feel it was fitting he wore it, with seven Azkaban years under his belt.

He knew he should do something, but he didn't know what. This situation was unprecedented, as far as he knew. Then again, Morgan la Fey hadn't exactly told him that much. They'd only had one meeting, even if it had taken a few hours.

And now the family magic was ambivalent. That was the only real way to describe it, but he was confident. The only way this would go pear-shaped was for Arcturus to suddenly make some sort of decision the family magic completely approved of. It would free him from his binding circle and allow him to walk out of it and act on his intent.

Arcturus didn't avert his eyes and stepped forward.

And out of the circle.

What the hell?

Sirius felt the change in the magic, but he also knew it hadn't left him. This... this was new and strange.

"Familiae magia." The 87-year-old was the one who spoke this time, his unwavering stare holding fast as a pedestal grew out of the floor, though no one saw it, shadeless and light-less as it was, like the rest of the room. Yet Sirius felt it forming, knew it was rising, shaping itself. _Being_ shaped by something greater.

Something that told him to step forward as well, so he did. Until he and his grandfather were within arms' reach of each other, and a ritual bowl melted into view between them, right below the still hovering Head of House Signet Ring.

Arcturus brought his hands together, a ritual knife appearing in his grasp on its own. A cut on his palm let blood drip in the bowl. "I, Arcturus Corvus Black, Head of the House of Black, by right of blood, of name, and of magic, relinquish my role, my title, my responsibility and my authority to Sirius Orion Black, Son of the House of Potter, Heir to the House of Black. So decreed. So witnessed."

Sirius stared at the old man for a moment. By all accounts, this wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. He'd expected a far less amiable conclusion, with a fight for dominance, or yells of defiance. Even Arcturus' summary expulsion from the house would have been more easy to expect than this. Than having the family magic basically whispering to them to make up and start over.

With a sigh, he accepted the ritual knife and renewed the knife wound on his own palm, which had been healed at some point during the earlier denouncements. "I, Sirius Orion Black, Son of the House of Potter, Heir to the House of Black, by right of blood, of name, of magic, accept the authority and title of Lord Black with all the responsibilities it entails. So decreed. So witnessed."

The cloud of white spun close to them, enveloping them both, sealing the transference. The crest on the Head of House Signet changed from the one with blood and ravens to the _true_ one. A Coat of Arms with three lions passant guardant, two sets of three fleurs de lis on opposite corners. All within a bordure heraldry, argent and blue, though the blue was matted and darkened, nearly black.

The signet settled on the little finger on Sirius's left hand.

And the witnesses could only gape in stupefaction at everything that had just happened.

Awkward. It was the only way to describe it. That'll teach him not to give himself false ideas of what to expect when entering realms of magic thought lost. The whisper at the back of his mind transmitted fond amusement. Brilliant, Morgan la Fey was probably laughing at him too.

"You know," Arcturus mused, breaking the weird quiet that had fallen over the once again pitch-black room, though the leaf-like binding array was still there. "If you wanted to become head of house, you _could_ have just asked."

Sirius shot the man a baffled look. "Really," he deadpanned. "And I suppose I should have just waltzed toward the doors to your country manor and _hope_ the crazy wards you've been hiding behind wouldn't incinerate me."

Arcturus had the decency to look bashful.

Sirius finally remembered there were four other people there. "Right, gawking time over. Time to go home. Chop chop!" He clapped his hands twice and the portals instantly sprung to life, flashing them away.

When Sirius finally looked at his grandfather again, he found himself the subject of the man's incredulousness. Distantly, the new Head of House noted he'd seen the man display more emotion than he'd done throughout the rest of his life. "Right!" Sirius said briskly, turning around and striding right to where he _knew_ the sigil stood, despite seeing nothing but black everywhere. Again. Quickly crouching, he waved a hand over the spot where the heartstone had melded with the floor and was satisfied to see it slide out.

Taking it, now clean and pristine, he turned to the former House Head. "Well, since you're still here, I suppose you can come and see me summon your other grandson." And he apparated away with barely any sound marking his disappearance.

"-. .-"

A moment later, he materialized in the tapestry room. Balancing the sigil stone on his fingertip, he waved a hand at the wall, humming a random tune. The passage sealed itself, then the cut in the wall disappeared, stone becoming a single piece again, just as Arcturus Black appeared in the room as well, a somewhat louder pop marking his arrival. "What did you say down there?"

"Hmm?" Sirius asked distractedly. "What? What did I say?"

His innocent expression must have really worried his grandfather because he actually repeated word for word. "Well, since you're still here, I suppose you can come and see me summon your other grandson." Finishing the air quote, the old man looked at him pointedly. "The only other grandson I have is dead."

"You don't say..." Sirius drawled, turning his back to him and pushing the heartstone back in its place. "He's dead just like I was rightfully tossed into Azkaban, right?" He turned just in time to see the man flinch.

"So you really," the man was both hopeful and downtrodden. "How... when did you get out? How is it that no one knows...?"

Sirius raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Magic."

The other wizard closed his eyes in consternation and shook his head to clear it.

That line of inquiry curbed, the new Head of Black looked back at the wall, where the emerald-green tapestry had once again formed. The trunk of the oak was brighter, silver-white, and the branches grew, leaves and flowers forming on both sides. He watched with vindication as his face and name formed perfectly, no longer the black scorch mark his mother had marred the wall with. The flowers belonging to Andromeda and the others that had been officially disowned, like Marius, did not appear though. He'd have to rectify that as soon as possible, but for now there was something more important.

His eyes locked on his brother's name. Regulus Arcturus Black. The grey skull still adorned the flower that should have been his face. With deliberately firm steps, he approached and produced his wand from his robe chest pocket, aware that his grandfather's eyes were boring into the back of his head the whole time.

"Should I be worried?" The old man asked.

Well, he was in for a shock. "Of a potential heart attack? Sure." Quieting his thoughts, he tried to ignore his beating heart as it picked up speed. "Patrisfamilias Ars Magica." With no delay, he jabbed the tip of the wand straight into the base of the skull. The magic flared, he could feel it changing. He could also sense the alien nature of the physical illusion on the tapestry. An animated transfiguration that had been knitted with the family magic somehow.

Sirius tilted his head, pointedly glaring at it as if to ask it if it was going to cause trouble.

And the spell obligingly dispersed. The skull broke and shattered like glass and turned to quicksilver and vanished. And as his grandfather took a sharp intake of breath on the far side of the room, he focused and spoke the words of the Call. "Regulus Arcturus Black, son of the House of Black. Your Lord Black requests your presence."

The figure of Regulus flashed gold, and the tapestry flared as a whole for a second, then went back to its normal state.

Sirius pulled back the wand and turned around, leaned against the tapestry. It felt calming for some reason, so the anxiousness wasn't so overpowering while he waited.

And waited.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

He blinked.

There was a third person there all of a sudden, several feet in front of him. Clad in a black coat bearing a silver snake on the back, silver threads mixed with silk. The man was half-crouched, prepared for hostile reception, but calmed when he confirmed where he was.

Sirius felt a lump in his throat. He'd prepared a flamboyant welcome in his mind. He'd imagined himself overwhelming him with his blatantly overbearing good cheer, but now that he was so close to him, he couldn't muster even the tiniest intent to pull any sort of act.

The black-clad wizard straightened and, due to having apparated with his back to Sirius, ended up first laying his eyes on the disbelieving face of the older man. He reached up and pulled off his hood, revealing his face and voicing his confusion at his reception. "Grandfather?"

It was like the last chip needed to break a dam. That voice. That sodding voice he thought he'd never hear. It wasn't right that a single word was enough completely bring down all the vestiges of his composure that he'd managed to stitch together, but damn it all he didn't give a fuck.

He was across the room in just two strides, and he didn't care how rough he was when he grabbed him by the shoulder and forcefully pulled him around to face him. Regulus blinked in shock and tried to say something but failed. He was real. Dammit all, he was really there. It really had all happened. He hadn't cracked. He wasn't just living a twisted fantasy world. The arm he'd clasped in a vise-like grip was there and solid.

His embrace was tight. Rough. _Desperate._ Forget that a lord should stand tall and proud. Forget that he'd just been suffused with enough magic to light up the sky. He was barely keeping his legs straight and clinging for dear life. His ears were filled with the throbs of his heart, and his body shook like a sail torn loose by a hurricane in the middle of the raging sea. "You're real." He choked out, barely forcing the words through sniffs and sobs. "You're real. You're _real_. Oh my god, you're really _here_."

He was there. Good lord, he was _there_. Returning the embrace as fiercely as he'd given it. "I'm here." He was calm and relieved. Not even close to the emotional wreck Sirius knew he'd turned into. I'm sorry. _I'm sorry_. He wanted to shout it, but he just couldn't talk. All the things he wanted to say, that he imagined he'd say, everything he _wanted_ to tell him just had no way of coming out. He couldn't _speak_. He was shaking too hard.

Fat load of good he was. The great Lord Black, bawling his eyes out for the second time in 24 hours.

"You're sorry." It was a statement, softly spoken, but it was enough.

Sirius nodded jerkily.

"I'm sorry too."

A sharp intake of breath. He wanted to tell him to stuff it. That he had nothing to feel sorry for. As he violently shook his head, he tried in vain to utter _something_.

"And you can't just tell me to stuff it."

A hoarse, tearful laugh somehow bubbled to the surface. It wasn't words, but it was close.

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me."

He stilled somewhat, though the tremors kept on. Had he the state of mind, he'd have bullishly ploughed of about supposed responsibility and past mistakes, but as it was he just hesitantly nodded again.

"Thank you." Regulus told him softly, a whisper really. "It's okay, Sirius. I love you, brother."

And suddenly it didn't matter that they had an audience. It didn't matter how pitiful, pathetic his breakdown was. It didn't matter. Because there was only one person there whose opinion he cared about, and to him it _didn't matter_. "I love you too." He sobbed. "I-I-I.. just wish I-I'd never _stopped_."

"You never did. Not really."

"I did!"

"No you didn't." Such conviction shouldn't be possible to convey through such soft whispers. "Because you're my brother and I'm yours." It was infuriating! Or would have been if there was any part of Sirius that could feel angry at him, and there wasn't. He doubted there ever would be.

"How c-can.. can you be so sure?"

Regulus tried to shrug, but Sirius was clinging on him too tight, so he huffed instead. "We're family."

His first impulse was to shout at him that it wasn't true. That he _wasn't_ family, shouldn't be considered... but that would have meant pulling away, and he wasn't ready to do that. Not yet. So he took a shuddering breath and tried to steady his breathing, only to fail. "We are..."

It was the last he uttered for the next half an hour.


	12. Chapter 11: Unspeakable Matters

**Chapter 11: Unspeakable Matters**

"-. .-"

"You do realize this won't work if they raise even the weakest privacy charm, don't you?"

James Bond was very good at ignoring naysayers. Especially when he had the assembling of a cool technological contraption to divert his attention towards. Regulus knew this, which was why he'd turned getting a rise out of him into a game. It was part of their everlasting contest of one-upmanship.

"Hell, even a mild Muffliato would do the trick."

Yes, he was good at ignoring naysayers. Although by the indifferent look on his face, he was probably imagining himself pushing his "partner" off the top of the block they were on.

"What is that thing supposed to be called again?"

Surprisingly, Bond answered. "This," he gestured to the completed item, "Is an LDLLS." It looked like a camera on a tripod, only it wasn't a camera. It was the latest spying tool, and yet another attempt by technology to circumvent magic. Doomed to fail of course, assuming their targets bothered to raise a privacy charm. Magic defied all scientific logic. It was amusing and sad that muggles never seemed to accept it. "Which is short for long distance laser listening system."

"So what? We just point it at whatever or whoever and hear everything there? Even their voices and precise pitches?"

"That's right."

"Well, if you say so." Regulus was already disillusioned, so he did the same to Bond. While their spot on top of the block was well out of the way, it wasn't as effective during the day as during the night, since there was a nice, bright background for them to be distinguished against. Mindful of that, he disillusioned the LLS too.

Early on he'd confirmed that lots of magic burned out electronics. He also learned that it wasn't something easy to protect against, like using EMP shielding. If that were the case, it would be impossible to shrink or levitate items made with any shred of EMP-shielding material, or really have any magic work on those things.

Which was not the case obviously.

The reason for the perceived incompatibility between technology and magic was different, and not all that hard to understand once Regulus got down to it. Essentially, magic was everywhere, and the more of it there was, the more there was to respond to people's brainwaves (that was to say, _intent)_. Basically, magic defaulted to something akin to random, at times _permanent_ transfiguration that messed with electricity and transistors on a microscopic level (and beyond even that, at a molecular level). The more reliant a device was on tiny components, and the more of them they were, the quicker they failed.

Actual _spells_ didn't affect technology that way, unless they were meant to be destructive or otherwise disruptive, because the effect was clearly defined. That was why the disillusionment didn't burn the LDLLS. Disillusioning could be compared to coating the whole contraption or person in a thick layer of goo.

It all came with the territory of magic effectiveness being determined by intent and the emotion people always broadcasted (and which was funneled through the astral plane). And while people could be considered unassailable islands of _Self_, everything else was constantly bombarded and suffused with magic and, thus, subject to the passive ideas and intent of everyone nearby, and to some extent everyone on the rest of the planet. And with magic users emitting and having a stronger effect on magic than muggles...

Obviously, electronics would not work in places like Hogwarts because of that. The ley line juncture the area was built upon ensured the amount of creative energy in the air was immense. Tiny components like microscopic transistors were invariably affected by it, unlike macroscopic objects. And electricity could never maintain constant flow, unless the devices were inscribed with runes that used all passive magic for something and, thus, left none to go whacky on a molecular level. Like, say, runes that charge on magic and turn it into electricity for the device. It had been tricky to pull off, but it ultimately was a fairly straightforward matter of modifying a basic runic circuit to _draw_ magic _into_ instead of _pulling_ magic _out_ of a power or ward stone. The only difficulty was including the parts about converting magic into electricity, and hooking the whole thing to the battery.

In the end, most of the effort went into the runework meant to determine the intensity of the "lightning" produced by the runes. It was tedious trial and error, because there obviously were no theory of magic texts that dealt in terms of voltage and amperage. Regulus had had to take a course in electronics and hardware, but it had been worth it.

"Targets sighted." Bond's disembodied voice said.

Regulus looked through his binoculars while James busied himself with the LLS. Sure enough, there they were. He had his doubts about this operation. Normally, Regulus wouldn't have been called in. Secret Intelligence had a protocol of watching and recording whatever they could, but keeping a distance. There wasn't much else they could do about magicals, both because of their ability to just disappear and because they were, technically, part of a different country than, in this case, France, and, thus, outside their jurisdiction.

Regulus suspected that the concessions squeezed into the Secrecy Statute had been achieved with liberal use or mind-affecting spells.

But that paled in front of the knowledge that he was in Paris and wouldn't get to enjoy the city. Still, Regulus Black consoled himself with the thought that he had, in fact, taken some time off to visit Paris in the past, so he didn't need to mourn his lost chance at tourism too much. He would focus on the task at hand: trying to figure out who the hell those two old men were and what they were on about, before they went over to meet with them.

The only reason MI6 ever so grudgingly gave him a call was because one of the two men somehow called M's office directly and candidly asked for a meeting between himself, a friend and MI6's one wizard associate, giving the time and place: June 21, 1982, Cafe de Flore, Paris. Obviously, M had a fit over the security breach, and sent Bond over with the file, much to the latter's chagrin and Regulus' amusement.

The only explanation given for wanting to meet in another country was that one of the men didn't want to go too far away from home.

The "appointment" was for noon, but Bond (or rather M) insisted they come in the morning and set up the equipment in the hopes that the old men would be early and chat a while, possibly revealing something of importance if they thought no one was presumably listening. They two of them would even arrive a bit late if it got the old men talking.

Said old men emerged from opposite sides of the street, and were not even spared a glance by anyone else. Which was strange given that one of them wore snow-white robes with something akin to a deep blue mantle. His hair, tied in a pony tail, was white as well, and he had a long moustache and beard tied together at collarbone-level.

All things considered, the other man, apparently younger, looked tame in comparison. Almost like a priest, with black vestments, though nothing covering his head.

They must have been under strong notice-me-not charms if no one paid them any attention. Either that, or they'd made it so their clothes appeared differently to everyone else, but that didn't explain why he and Bond could see their real appearance.

"What is this, a costume party?" Bond grumbled as he activated the LDLLS.

Regulus heard the click in his ear that signified the audio connection had come online between his earpiece and the laser spy tool.

The two old men embraced before they took seats at a ludicrously exposed table on the terrace set aside on the sidewalk. They cast no privacy magic at all for some obscure reason. None Regulus could distinguish. So it made no sense that everyone behaved as if neither existed. "Michel, how are you?" The older man asked genially. Regulus had the nagging feeling he should be able to recognize his face. "Still getting together with those self-deceived Illuminati?"

Bond, who was drinking from a can of soda, choked on the beverage and spewed it everywhere. It was like the universe conspired to have him drink at that precise moment just so he could react with a spit-take.

"You already know the answer to that, Nicholas." The slightly less ancient man answered. His expression was more neutral, but the corners of his mouth did quirk slightly, and he talked with the same French accent as the other.

"Must be torture," Nicholas commiserated.

"Not really," Michel replied, spinning a tea spoon in the cup that was suddenly in his hand as though it had always been there. But Regulus was certain there had been nothing on the mesh table until that moment. "Actually, with how they come together to gloat about controlling the world without realizing they lack true power, and that they're just being used in turn, it is rather amusing, and at the same time sad." He sipped from his cup. Regulus wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into, and if it was too much to hope these were just jokes or ramblings of old madmen. "They never noticed that the 'God' they worship is actually an astral entity, and said entity was replaced again last month. I think it was devoured this time around." He set his cup on the table. "And I doubt they'll ever learn the real Lucifer experienced the Final Death over two centuries ago."

Regulus blinked dumbly. Had he not known that James was as invisible as he was, he'd have exchanged a bewildered look with him.

"A bad business, that," Nicholas nodded gravely. Regulus did a double take. When had the full tea set appeared? There was even a bowl filled with croissants! "I cannot help but think Lucifer might have been able to come around if he'd just agreed to be embodied a few times."

That did it. Regulus cancelled the disillusionment charms on them both just so they could wordlessly communicate their mutual confusion.

Michel seemed amused. "I believe his retort to that would have been along the lines of 'silence fool, you will never understand me and my reasons with your limited, linear mind.'"

Nicholas quirked an eyebrow. "This coming from one that was so completely subject to the passage of time that there is actually a date that can be ascribed to the end of his existence."

"Quite."

Regulus was starting to guess what the nature of this whole mess might be. Or at least a small part of it. Even though most of the conversation completely flew over his head. Next to him, James shook his head and scratched it. "I suppose it's too much to hope that they're just lunatics?"

Regulus didn't have time to tell him he'd just echoed his earlier sentiment, because Michel laughed all of a sudden. "Lunatic. Now that's a name I haven't been called in a while."

It was safe to say that scared the hell out of both Black and Bond.

Naturally, the white-haired one joined in the fun. "Now now, no need to scare the hell out of the poor lads like that."

Bond worked his jaw numbly while Regulus palmed his face through the black veil.

"It was not _my_ idea," Michel defended himself. "Raphael said, and I quote, 'You should keep them on their toes.' A crude way of putting it, to be sure, but sensible I suppose."

Bond was just as confused, but the moment that name was uttered Regulus brought a hand to his ear and went stiff. He ignored James' suspicious glance.

"Raphael?" Nicholas leaned forward, his voice filling with eagerness. "You've met him?"

Regulus hurried to look through the telescope they'd set up next to the LDLLS, just in time to see a close-up of the slightly less ancient man shaking his head. "No. I only received a note. Again."

The older one eased in his seat, but looked disappointed, and sounded that way as well. "Setting aside that 'Divinity is always in front of us because it is all places,' he never shows himself to any of us."

"Oh, come now, you know well at this point." Michel looked away from Nicholas and straight into the perspective of the telescope, right at Regulus. "That is not entirely true."

Regulus moved away from the telescope and sighed. "Come on," he said resignedly, placing a hand on Bond's shoulder before he could protest.

A moment later, they reappeared next to the table with nary a sound, though the air did move away to make room for them. As Black expected, no one seemed to notice them because of whatever the two people at the table were doing. James glared at the wizard, but abandoned all thoughts of cursing up a storm in favor of finally facing off with those two old men.

Nicholas gestured to their two chairs while the other man welcomed them. "Good of you two to join us at last, instead of hiding on rooftops."

Regulus hesitated but sat down, pushing his hood back. Bond took the seat next to him, looking rather put out. That the old men expected them both confirmed their suspicions that whichever of them called M's office deliberately did it to get them to send an agent along. If they wanted Regulus alone, they'd have likely figured out how to call him at his penthouse in Surrey. Or visited him in person, assuming they could get past security and his wards. Which they probably could.

"So, introductions first?" The oldest of them started. He got up and made a graceful bow. "Nicholas Flamel, master alchemist." Then he sat back down.

The other man only nodded in their direction. A single twitch of the corner of his mouth revealed his amusement at their faces. "Michel de Nostredame."

There was a pause.

Then Regulus palmed his face. "Oh you have to be _shitting_ me!" He looked at him around his hand. "Please tell me you didn't call us here because the Apocalypse is coming."

Bond shot him a weird look.

The lack of response made Regulus duck his head in despodence. "Oh Merlin, that _is_ why you called us here!"

The slightly less ancient man blinked. "Come now, lad, no need to be so dramatic."

"Really," Black deadpanned. "My apologies if I am a bit nervous, but there is a whole culture built around your book of prophesies that, for the most part, foresee only horrid calamities."

"No, I am not here to warn you of the Apocalypse." The man had the decency to grimace. "As for that book you people have compiled out of my prophesies, I admit I was not at my best during that period of my life."

Black scoffed. Forget that he was in the presence of two people compared to whom Albus Dumbledore seemed like a child. He was too off-balance to react with the appropriate measure of awe.

So Nicholas Flamel leaned back in his comfortable armchair. None of the dozens of people having drinks at the cafe seemed to notice it was an ornate, velvet-covered museum piece instead of the plastic foldable models at the other tables. "Come now, no skeptical rebuttals? No disbelief over our identities? No reaction to at least one of us supposed to be nothing more than legend even in the Magical World?"

Black did what he always did when in doubt: fell back on sarcasm. "I _can_ be obstinately disbelieving if it will make you feel better."

"Hey!" Bond cut in, peeved at having been essentially forgotten. "Maybe one of you can explain what's happening to this mere mortal?"

Regulus sighed and gestured absently between him and the ancient man that was only slightly less ancient than the other ancient man. By a couple hundred years or so. He didn't see the bewildered expression on the agent's face as he spoke the words that would change his life even more than it'd been turned upside down up till then. He was too shell-shocked to do anything but sip juice through a straw, completely disregarding the way said juice box appeared out of nowhere just to become a means to soothe his nerves. "James Bond, meet Nostradamus."

"-. .-"

For a meeting with presumed legendary figures, it wrapped up fairly quickly. Nostradamus (Regulus still had trouble wrapping his mind around having met _that_ person of all people) told him something big had happened on that day of June 21, 1982. Flamel then asked him if he'd be willing to help out with something years down the line. Bond was there because they needed someone to inform the British government, someone they wouldn't dismiss out of hand, that Flamel would need to make himself known to the British Crown for some reason, years down the line.

When Regulus asked how exactly he would have to help and how to come into contact, Flamel just said a verbal agreement would be sufficient and that he'd take care of the rest.

He rather hoped Raphael would show up to enlighten him a bit more, but he never appeared after their last meeting in November, 1981.

In hindsight, the "something big" should have been obvious in that context. To his shame, however, Regulus didn't put 2 and 2 together until August 12, 1984, when he found himself forcefully pulled away from his lunch and teleported half-way across the country. He ended up on his face in the grass, oddly enough already kitted in his gear. After jumping to his feet and looking around for threats, he recognized Flamel standing a few meters away, arms crossed and looking very satisfied with himself.

"Welcome to Balmoral Castle," the old man said. Then abruptly turned around and left in a quick stride.

Cursing under his breath, Regulus ran to catch up with him. Idly he realized he was in the back garden, which was actually more of a forest, or orchard was a better term. "What the hell did you do? How did you get me here?"

"Magic."

Regulus cursed again.

Then he remembered that _Sirius_ was the one who got angry and did hotheaded things, so he forced himself to calm down, deliberately _not_ thinking of the tortures his brother must have been feeling at that moment, still trapped in Azkaban.

So he calmed his breathing and asked something else "What are we facing?"

"A rather brazen attempt by the Ministry of Magic to keep their life simple and their sins secret." Flamel led him through a servant entrance. Regulus suspected the old man was using whatever trick he used back at the cafe, to keep them unnoticed, but he cast his newly developed invisibility spell for his own peace of mind. It was a variation of the transparency spell he used on doors and walls. "Which is to say," Flamel continued, "They are here to reverse the effects of a fairly strong episode of accidental magic, obliviate the witnesses and bind the magic of the child who caused it."

A sneaking suspicion began to form in Regulus' mind. "And the source is...?"

"Prince William Arthur Philip Louis."

Who'd been born on June 21, 1982, to Charles, Prince of Wales, and Diana, Princess of Wales.

"Shit."

"Indeed."

Thanks to magic that kept them silent and unseen, and Flamel's apparent ability to home in on whoever he was looking for, they quickly ascended through the different floors of the castle and headed to the suite of rooms belonging to the royal couple.

When they finally got there, Regulus had to admire Flamel's sense of timing. They opened the doors to the nursery just as four wizards portkeyed into the surprisingly large room. It was astounding that the royal family had no wards protecting the palace. Regulus knew that the Crown didn't dabble much, but there _was_ a Court Wizard, he was certain.

Prince Charles and his wife were both in the room, not having gotten over the surprise of the young prince's entire toy collection suddenly coming to life. When the wizards appeared, they barely had time to whirl around. Four stunning spells had already been sent towards them, two for each royal.

Regulus didn't even think. "Contego Maximus!"

The red bolts splashed against the shimmering screen that his wand and incantation had brought to bear. Not letting up, he pushed more magic into it, even dropping his cloaking spell, but it was Flamel's unseen but very much felt assistance that turned the shield into something more akin to a large wall, separating the room in half, with the Royals safely behind it.

Beside him, the master alchemist brought up his hand and let himself be noticed. Without saying anything, he snapped his fingers, causing the smallest of sparks.

The room exploded.

Or, rather, the air spontaneously combusted and was snuffed out in the same second. It was the only thing that could happen when fire suddenly filled every inch of the room and found itself without any air to sustain it. Three of the four wizards were blown off their feet, and it wasn't the jarring falls that knocked them out, but the sudden departure of all the air in their lungs, pulled out by the pressure difference, the oxygen around them having been consumed by the blast.

The fourth was knocked back as well, but he was closer to the edge of the explosion. He was thrown out through the other set of doors, but still conscious. Seeing what had happened, he shot away, trying to escape.

Regulus vanished.

A side kick to the chin tossed the man in the air, perfectly positioned for a second teleportation that allowed the wizard to heel him in the gut and send him flying back in the room. He'd have let him smash against the shield that was still shimmering, but he chose to appear above him instead, and finish him off with an axe kick right to his chest.

The man slammed into the thick rug with a loud thump that left him unmoving. "Honestly," he huffed, stepping off the unconscious man. "What kind of wizards forget they can just teleport away?"

"You'd have simply followed him." Flamel said, dispelling the remnants of Regulus' shield with a wave of his hand.

"True," the Black Phantom confirmed. "What was the fire?"

"Alchemy," the old man said. "Useful, as you can see. That is what happens when you change every nitrogen molecule in the air into any non-toxic but highly flammable gas and provide the smallest spark."

"Nice."

"Quite." The master alchemist finally turned to the two Royals and sketched a small bow. "Greeting, Your Royal Highnesses. My apologies for this unfortunate disturbance."

Charles found his voice first. "What... What in the world is going on here? Who are you and who are these men?!" Regulus noted that the man had pushed Diana behind him, and Diana was, in turn holding her son. "And how did you get in here? How did you get past security?!"

Flamel smiled and answered all those questions in reverse. "We came through the back door. These men are rogue wizards intent to erase your memories of magic and bind the magic of your son because they don't want the complications of the Royal Family getting involved in the Wizarding World and seeing some of its nastier sides. Lord knows you might actually try to _do_ something about it. We, naturally, are the ones that came to stop them. As for what happened, well," he gestured to the four robed men. "That much you saw."

The Prince's hand was twitching, probably wishing he was holding a gun. "Who are you?"

"Nicholas Flamel, Master Alchemist." The old wizard stood tall, his white robe covered by that blue mantle of his, large enough to be considered both a cape and a cloak. It made for a very impressive sight. Not the least because he was all very softly glowing.

The prince looked at him long and hard, as if trying to associate the name with something he'd read in the past. Finally giving up, he looked suspiciously at Regulus. "And you, sir?"

The young man supposed he had a right to look so uneasy. Compared to Flamel, his black attire and the illusion covering his face made him look eerie. After a moment's deliberation, he reached up to lower his hood. Charles wasn't able to cover up his surprise quickly enough. Regulus was obviously much younger. "Regulus Arcturus Black." He bowed with a flourish. His mother would probably have a fit if she learned he'd just done that in front of a muggle. He didn't hold it long though. Just enough. "Though your government knows me by a certain alias as well."

Charles relaxed quite a bit when he recognized the name. "You're the one that's been making M's life miserable!"

Regulus blinked. "Is that what they call it these days?"

The three men that had been knocked out by the earlier blast began to stir and moan, so Regulus promptly stunned each of them. "Right, now what?" he asked the alchemist.

"We modify their memories to think they succeeded, then we send them home. Either way, they aren't the relevant item here." With a serious face, the old man looked at the royals. "The fact is, your highnesses, that their and our entry should not have been so easy. Your Court Wizard should have set at least a modicum of alarm and anti-transportation wards in place. That he did not should help you believe me easier when I say he is not acting in the best interest of the Royal Family."

There was a moment when no one said anything, but then Charles almost exploded. "That traitorous scum! I knew there was something about him I didn't like. You're telling me we've allowed a backstabber to live within our walls?" The momentary anger lessened, and the man became distrustful. "How do I know I can trust anything you say?"

Regulus sighed and was glad Flamel put repelling wards around the room without making any gesture to give that action away. This was going to take a while.

"-. .-"

After the whole royal debacle, four years came and went. Regulus' involvement with MI6 was sporadic at best, but there were some highlights. Particularly when he was hired by M to go check out a certain man that the personal assistant to the Head of MI6 section S was believed to be romantically involved with. Given that said assistant was off on a mission with James Bond at the time, Regulus decided to be particularly thorough and nailed Yusef Kabira for all he was worth, and then some. it turned out the guy was an agent working for the Quantum organization, posing as an environmentalist who intended to stage a coup d'état in Bolivia to seize control of the nation's water supply.

The man was tasked with seducing high-ranking women in the world's intelligence agencies. He would then be "kidnapped" by Quantum, and the women were forced to become double agents in the hope of securing his freedom. Which was what happened to the aforementioned personal assistant of the Section S leader. Given how effective the man was, and how often he did it, M thought he was using magical means (ergo love potions) to pull it off. Or maybe she just implied it to justify calling the wizard in.

She should have known better.

In hindsight, Regulus supposed he should have hurried things up instead of going off on a tangent. If shutting down the Quantum organization after a cross-continental quest that concluded with the "environmentalist" Dominic Greene stranded in the middle of the desert (with only a can of engine oil) could be called a tangent.

Still, on that tangent he went, before he finally got around to visiting Yusef Kabira in Kazan, Russia. The guy was already working on his next "target," a Canadian agent.

The goodwill gained by Britain with Canada for preventing said agent from being compromised was the only reason M didn't have an apoplectic fit after Regulus' completely unsanctioned adventure.

By the time he reported in (and subsequently eavesdropped on all of M's conversations via liberal use or surveillance charms), the woman seduced by Yusef had already gotten James kidnapped and tortured (by staging her own kidnapping of all things) and managed to get caught, in Venice, in the middle of a second elimination attempt, only this time real. And that was _after_ a stay in the hospital for Bond, where the woman visited him every day.

Regulus tracked the two down without M knowing what he was up to. He managed to catch up to them in Venice, where James had planned to propose, just as the woman was committing suicide by drowning. It had been a very dramatic scene, with Bond swimming at the bottom of the basement, flooded over like every other building in that city, and frantically pulling at the elevator grate, while the woman locked herself in and kissed his hands, to presumably clear him of guilt. She'd chosen to kill herself, ostensibly to remove the reason for Quantum to go after Bond by association, instead of, say, reconsidering her decision to commit suicide in front of him.

Regulus had not been amused.

_Or_ impressed.

Obviously, he apparated her out of there and set the record straight in regards to her presumed lover. Bond had a moment where he almost denounced her as a traitor, but love and relief at her being still alive won out in the end.

James followed up on his intent to retire and marry, and was going to quit the service, but M got him and his new wife to take up a different sort of mission: long-term surveillance. It was basically married life with a bit of spy-work on the side, only their marriage wasn't a cover.

That time, Regulus _had_ been amused.

Though the actual mission left a taste in his mouth, and those of Bond and his wife, that got more bitter with each passing month. Even _with_ the "interventions" and safeguards that he, and associates, had set in place.

The time passed, and finally it was evening on May 31, 1988.

Regulus couldn't sleep. Despite how comfortable his bed was, and how perfectly suited to his tastes his penthouse had become over the years, sleep didn't come easy anymore, because he knew what year this was. Assuming Raphael spoke the truth back in 1981, and He only ever spoke Truth, this was the year when someone new took the mantle of Lord Black from Arcturus and finally got Sirius out of prison. Over the years, Regulus had tried to investigate all the leads he could, but they were few and far between, and until Crouch and his cronies got flushed from the Magical British system, he had no chance of getting Sirius out of Azkaban.

Legally that is. He already had a plan to break into Azkaban if it came down to it. He'd even figured out a rune-based ward that produced the same effect as a Patronus shield charm. Breaking out _with_ Sirius would have to be figured out on the spot though.

He knew that someone new had become DMLE chief. Amelia Susan Bones. She'd only been on the job for a week, but Regulus already felt time was dragging its feet. Each night he had trouble falling asleep, so he dealt with boredom by remembering the adventures of the past nine years. When that was done, he combed through his thoughts about his own various projects of techno-magic. Which basically involved magic-proofing appliances and gadgets. He'd not shared his successes with anyone yet. He felt he shouldn't do anything with his breakthroughs until Sirius was out.

He knew his greatest personal accomplishments would feel hollow otherwise. Especially with what that long-term surveillance mission of James kept showing.

The bedroom lit up as if day had come.

A blue shimmer painted the walls and lightning arched through them and furniture, damaging nothing. A mental tug seeped into the back of the wizard's mind, calling him towards a destination he knew all too well.

Regulus shot to his feet and apparated to his study. A wave of his hand over a seemingly nondescript book shelf opened a hidden wall compartment. "Kreacher!" The elf appeared, looking a bit bemused. "Robe me."

"As master wishes!"

Regulus tried and failed to curb his excitement. This was it! He'd never been subject to family magic before, but he somehow _knew_ what it was just by feeling it. He didn't know who Arcturus had passed his title to, or lost it to, and he didn't care. It was finally happening.

Either that, or he was setting himself up for disappointment. But he tried not to think like that, even though he'd become rather pessimistic over the years.

Geared up, he checked for his wand and utility belt before following the pull and disapparating.

His reappearance left him in a crouch, ready for anything.

Or almost anything. What happened next was definitely not part of any scenario he'd envisioned.

"-. .-"

It was rainy. Thank Merlin for the impervius charm, or whoever invented the spell. It didn't make Azkaban an any less dreary place, but at least it made sure he only felt the beat of the gale, not the water droplets. Besides, his battle robe would not have let the water seep through. Then again, getting soaked would not have ruined his mood, he was too happy for that. No, not happy, _ecstatic_ after basically hugging the lights out of Sirius for a full half hour.

Life was good.

Getting past the prison wards had been really easy, especially at midnight. It didn't really compare to a certain other place he'd infiltrated in earlier years. By necessity. All he had to do was activate his anti-apparition necklace (which made a small anti-apparition ward around him) and he was able to teleport into the confines of the island wards, raising no alarms whatsoever. That he was about a mile above the ground (or in that case sea), hovering on his broom, definitely helped him go in undetected.

He'd been a bit skeptical when Sirius told him he'd have to break into Azkaban just to have a short chat with Sirius. Who was still in prison apparently. Sirius had even told him what his first two lines would have to be, and how far apart they should come. And that Sirius would think he was hallucinating.

Time travel was an incredible thing. Regulus supposed that the whole madness really fit his brother. To come back in time two months to become the Lord Black that would get himself out of jail.

"Familiae Magia." He didn't need to cut his palm. In this instance, the Lord Black had given him dispensation to use the family magic to locate Sirius, wherever his cell was. Ah, there he was.

When Regulus finally materialized inside the cell, the euphoria brought about by the long-delayed reconciliation immediately died. When Sirius had turned him around and hugged him nearly to death earlier, Regulus was struck by how vulnerable he was. He'd never seen him vulnerable. Ever. Even during the almost abduction in 1980 he only came close.

Yet that breakdown didn't hold a candle to how horrid _this _Sirius' appearance was, still stuck in the chilly Tartarus that was Azkaban prison. Regulus didn't know how long he stood there, staring at him, horrified. It must have been minutes, but Sirius didn't move even once. Not even to remove his forearm from where it was lying on top of his shut eyes. A vain attempt to block the nightly terrors out.

Gods above, he looked dreadful. Compared to the man that had just sent him on a mission to Azkaban, Sirius looked horrible. Despite not being asleep, he seemed dead. Absent. _Empty_.

Twenty minutes later, when Regulus finally apparated back into Grimmauld Place, he didn't find Sirius in the tapestry room, so he started looking for him with perhaps more haste than was appropriate indoors. But dammit all, he didn't give a fuck. This time, _he_ was the one that needed the reassurance that he hadn't been hallucinating the entire evening.

He found him in the study, putting the finishing touches on THE PLAN that was written on a large blackboard. Grandfather Arcturus sat in a chair to the side, but Regulus ignored him. When Sirius turned around to greet him with a grin, he ignored _that_ too. He didn't even give him a chance to talk. He debated between punching him for subjecting him to that sight, and hugging the hell out of him.

The latter won, hands down. Regulus didn't weep, but he didn't speak either, and Sirius seemed to understand that, this time,_ he_ was the one that needed reassurance and the comfort of his presence.

It was a while before he pulled away. Enough time for Arcturus to quietly retire and give them privacy.

At least the man had enough decency for that now.

"-. .-"

After a while, Regulus drew in a breath. "Okay..." And pulled back. "I'm fine now." He paused. "Thanks."

Sirius regarded him for a long moment. "Are you sure?" Now that he was past his meltdown, he'd already bounced back into his role as elder sibling. "Come on, I didn't look _that_ horrible, did I?"

"You did," he shook his head. "Compared to... well, _you, _you _do_. Do you have any idea what kind of mood whiplash you just subjected me to?" Silence. "No wait, don't say anything. Nevermind, it was a stupid thing to say." Lovely. His brother had spend seven years in that hell and now he's complaining about simply catching one glimpse of it. Splendid.

"Not stupid," Sirius waved it off. "_Completely_ insensitive maybe, but not stupid." Then he grinned. "Although it's strange that you just blurted it without thinking. Weren't _you_ supposed to be the level-headed one?"

The younger wizard blinked once but said nothing. He just pointedly glared at Sirius. To no effect.

"Don't worry," Sirius pat him on the shoulder consolingly. "We'll figure it out. Hopefully it's just old age catching up with you." Then he turned from him to look at the blackboard again.

Regulus debated the benefits of hexing the man, but decided against it when he remembered that the Head of House could be rather violently protected by the house wards. His eyes finally followed Sirius' gaze to the board. He stopped short and just looked at it, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The blackboard was covered completely in something that was probably meant to be a chart, but looked more like an unholy amalgam of squares, arrows diagrams and squiggles, with arrows pointing to things across the board, some even forming closed loops.

Closing his eyes tight, the younger brother took a deep breath and calmed his mind before the headache came. When he was feeling brave enough, he opened his eyes again and tried to make sense of the chalk-drawn disaster. There had to be some sense. This had to be just Sirius being Sirius, not the evidence that his mind had cracked under the strain of the Dementors.

"You should see your face," Sirius snickered, making Regulus jerk his head in his direction. "You're thinking this is evidence that I'm mad, aren't you?"

"Like I need more evidence!" Regulus snapped. Then he realized what he'd just said.

"I suppose you have a point there," the Head of Black sighed with a tragic, put-upon flair. A wave of his wand cleared the chalk monstrosity and left behind a somewhat less entangled chart. So _that_ was what Sirius busied himself with during the time it took Regulus to make his trip to Azkaban. He was putting together a strategy.

A term loosely used. Regulus felt that headache finally reach him. Merlin's mercy, what was he about to help unleash upon the world?

The goal of it all was clear enough. Written in large letters near the top of the blackboard was : THE GOAL - Make Harry Happy. Then one arrow pointed down to the plan. And then there was what was _below_. "Sirius, what?"

"What do you mean what?" The other man asked, deliberately pretending to be confused. "Obviously, this our plan."

"What do you mean this is the plan...?" He stared. "Sirius," he said slowly, "that chart makes no sense."

To which the other wizard scoffed. "Sure it does. I made arrows and everything. It's perfectly and clearly illustrated."

"Sirius, the chart says the plan relies on carrying out the plan and the plan," Regulus deadpanned.

The older brother shook his head, patiently. "No, young grasshopper. See, in order to carry out THE PLAN, we must enact The Plan," he tapped the sub-categories in quick succession, "and the plan."

There was a pause. "How on Earth can you pronounce those words with three different intonations?"

Sirius looked particularly smug. "Style, youngling."

Regulus palmed his face. "Fine. Plan A and Plan B."

"No," Sirius corrected him. Again. "_The_ Plan and the _plan_. Come on, repeat after me, _The_ Plan and the-"

A swipe of a wand silenced the aggravating wizard. It was a few seconds later that Regulus realized what he'd done.

"Please don't do that again until I reprogram the place," Sirius told him with a sigh, as if the silencing charm broke just as it had been cast. Which was probably what had happened. Or Sirius broke it himself. "I had to mentally command the wards not to retaliate. Not a _particularly_ daunting task, but still."

"It'd have been on your head anyway," the younger one said. "Mostly."

"Awww," he was so touched. In the head maybe. "That's the best praise I got in years."

The young black scion internally admitted that must be true. Azkaban wasn't a place that provided much chance to accomplish or be praised for anything. "I give up. Go ahead and explain the plan, oh pardon, THE PLAN."

Sirius blinked. "I just did."

Even though he _knew_ Sirius was trying to get a rise out of him, it still got to him. He wondered why he didn't find it amusing. Maybe he did but didn't want to admit it. Oh well, he was family, so he was stuck with him.

Thank God.

"Elaborate then."

"No need," Sirius said breezily.

That brought him short, so he didn't even dignify it with a follow-up comment.

"Come on!" Sirius said, before turning around and striding out of the study.

Regulus hastened to follow him. "Sirius, what now?"

"Now?" The wizard didn't break stride once. "Now we go and initiate the plan."

"Which one?"

Sirius gave him a sideways glance. "Aren't you listening? I said the _plan_."

"Right," Reglus dragged it out. "So the _plan_."

Sirius waved at Arcturus as he passed him by on the way to the stairs. The older wizard was waiting next to the library door. "Hey gramps! Want to see us off?"

"See you off?"

"_Us?_" Regulus followed. "Wait, you're going somewhere _now_?"

Sirius began descending the staircase. "I just said that, didn't I?"

"Sirius, it's 3 in the morning!"

Said person looked back at him over his shoulder. "So?"

Regulus had to hand it to him, the guy wasn't even _trying_ to act in any way unlike himself. Assuming that was him being himself. He wished it really _was_ and not some nice-looking mask he'd put on for the benefit of everyone else. Azkaban couldn't have left Sirius so upbeat. And with him landing there hours after his greatest loss and trauma, he hadn't gotten around to grieving James and Lily Potter either. Right now he was only thinking of THE PLAN, whose only goal was to make Harry happy. According to the horribly messy disaster that was on the blackboard before Sirius cleared it, there was even a "Take Over the Wizarding World" contingency section that was, in Sirius' eyes, just a means towards that ultimate end.

Right now, that kept him focused. Regulus dreaded what would come after Sirius got Harry out of that... _place_. He dreaded telling him everything he'd done, or rather _hadn't_ done about it, just as much.

That was another thing. Instead of the two of them sitting down and having a long discussion about things, Sirius had immediately sent him off to visit the other him in Azkaban, after providing the barest summary of how he'd come to be in two places at once. He hadn't even explained how he'd gotten Lordship, though Arcturus' presence and apparently accommodating mood implied a willing transference of the title.

Regulus had returned from that horrible place fully prepared for a long chat that would last into the morning and maybe afternoon, but instead Sirius had annoyed him through overbearing good cheer and taken off down the stairs while being obstinate. _After_ outlining THE PLAN of course.

"Right!"

Sirius' voice snapped Regulus out of his deep musings. They were in the kitchen, where Sirius was disposing of a carton of milk, which he'd just emptied. "What? I need my calcium."

"Whatever you say." It was just easier on the brain to go with it.

"Okay." Sirius was getting excited for some reason. "Follow me!" And after spinning on his heel, he was gone with an almost inaudible rush of air.

Shaking his head, Regulus stepped forward, fully intent on doing what he'd been told, only to stop and stare in confusion. Quickly producing his goggles, he checked to see if what he felt, or rather _didn't_ feel, was true. It was. There was no apparition trail at all. "Well. This is unexpected." Odd. An apparition that left no jump scar. Regulus found himself surprised and impressed. He had tried to pull off something of the sort, but had had limited success, so he'd substituted it for his reverse air side-along that dispersed the trail after the jump has been already made.

After a moment, Sirius apparated back into the kitchen. "Right, sorry about that. It seems I still default to the traceless apparition. See if it works now. Oh, and the anti-apparition ward will only be down for one minute." And he disapparated again, this time with a clear crackling sound.

This bore further investigation.

Regulus sighed and eyed his grandfather. "I'll try to get him home in one piece." And without another word, stepped into the spot where his brother had been and focused on the remnant magic, disappearing without a sound.

The translocation left him in a place that seemed eerily familiar, and he had to focus a bit before he put the pieces together. Occlumency could improve thought processes to the point where near-perfect memory recall was achieved, and the need for sleep was reduced to as little as 3-4 hours a night. It was a testament to how long ago it happened that it took four seconds for the realization to set in.

He was in a small, closet-like room not unlike the one he'd followed Rookwood into back in 1981. Not wasting time, he passed through the door and, sure enough, he was in a safe house much like that one.

It gave birth to a suspicion. A small suspicion that only grew the more he watched Sirius rummage through what looked like a closet, and a big glass case, only the glass itself was spelled opaque, albeit still smooth and shiny.

"Man, this place didn't hold up as well as the house," Sirius grumbled, throwing random things over his shoulder. Since the safe house was a relatively small room, that meant the small figurines, documents and small boxes ended up all over the place, even the central round table. Regulus had to duck out of the way of a red and gold rubber ball.

Sirius stepped away from the latest compartment in the wall he was raiding with a scowl, but he finally realized Regulus was there. Seemingly making a split-second decision, he walked to the glass case and placed his hand on the handle. A flash of red light allowed the doors to open.

The wizard took out a pensieve, of all things, and carefully placed it on the table in the middle. "This will work loads better than an explanation, I think. At least for part of everything." Bringing his wand to his right temple, Sirius extracted a silvery memory thread and dropped it in the water-like substance contained in the wide, shallow bowl made of marble. "Check it out while I find what I'm looking for."

Then he resumed his search for whatever he was seeking, occasionally tossing things right in the table's direction. With a roll of his eyes, Regulus cast a shield around himself and said table, before entering the pensieve. He idly thought it would have been simpler to use the one at Grimmauld Place instead.

He came out less than a minute later, completely flabbergasted and feeling no small amount of awe. He'd seen everything between Sirius' arrival to the ancestral Black home and when he used the tapestry to summon him there.

Lord Black kept rummaging through every nook and cranny, and Regulus found himself just staring at him, trying to connect the person in front of him to the one that had made all... _that_ happen.

"A-ha!" Sirius cried out in triumph, finally pulling something out from a compartment located behind one of the two filing cabinets. "There you are! They took away the time turner and all my other robes, but not you, did they? They didn't find you, no they did not. I hid you too well."

Regulus had to wonder why Sirius was talking to a cloak.

Folding it over his forearm, the man turned and walked over to where Regulus was. "Seen everything?"

The younger one nodded. "You don't do things normally, do you?"

Sirius smirked and vanished the memory copy he'd placed there. "Come on, I have one more thing to show you." Turning around, he led Regulus to the far side of the room. Or rather, the small alcove opposite the apparition arrival point. There was a single door there. "Well? Go on, what do you think? Open it!"

The younger Black scion eyed his sibling for a moment, feeling something akin to dread mounting up, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Which made Sirius lose patience, roll his eyes, and hit Regulus with a very fast and nonverbal immobilization spell. Then he pulled the door open and shoved him inside, quickly shutting the door on him.

Regulus found himself inside a very small and very dark closet. And just as the spell on him broke, he cursed. "Sirius! What are you playing at!" Fumbling for the handle, he finally found it and pushed the door open harder than he probably should have.

He stumbled out, only he wasn't in the safe house anymore. Instead, he was in a tall and eerie corridor, with floating white globes of light offering dim illumination. They were arranged in rows, near the vaulted ceiling. And the floor was made of black marble, with the walls of green, rectangular stones, like bricks but different. He didn't hear the door closing and opening behind him.

He did hear when Sirius spoke though. "Ah, don't you just love vanishing cabinets?" Regulus whirled around, an insult on his lips, but he stopped when Sirius pulled the hood of his blue-grey cloak over his head. A shroud, not unlike his own, shimmered into view to obscure his face. "Welcome to Great Britain's Department of Mysteries!"

Regulus Black's thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as he understood just what his earlier suspicion had been.

Sirius was an Unspeakable.

The man he was staring at walked by him and towards the large door at the end of the passageway.

Sirius Orion Black was an _Unspeakable_.

What in Merlin's pants? "You're an Unspeakable?" Realizing he was being left behind, Regulus jogged to catch up, pulling his own charmed hood over his head. What... How was this possible? When had he been recruited and how?

Sirius strode purposefully, hands clasped behind his back. His cloak billowed magnificently with his every step. "To answer your unasked questions, I was approached by Croaker shortly after you 'kidnapped' the Potters and I, back in 1980. I know I sort of said it before, but great job on the performance by the way." The secret operative opened the door and waited for Regulus to precede him before closing it. They found themselves inside a large, circular room with many doors. "I relayed my suspicions that you were an Unspeakable to the DMLE, and Barty Crouch raised a lot of stink over the DOM butting into the jobs of the Aurors, which, in turn, got Croaker to seek me out. Nevermind that my suspicions were never proven, or that they were false, as is now clear."

The room suddenly started spinning. Or the walls did. Regulus couldn't be sure. The wizard wanted to ask Sirius several things. Like what the job entailed, how he kept it a secret, who else knew, but what came out was totally different. "Why did they never do anything to get you out of Azkaban?"

Sirius shrugged. "No one is supposed to know who each Unspeakable is. Rookwood was an exception, as is Croaker himself. Besides, I doubt they had any more proof or contacts willing to listen than you did, even if they thought I was innocent. Which they must have given that my safe house and access point is still assigned to me, however stripped bare of key equipment it may be."

"Like the time turner? Do all unspeakables have one?"

The room stopped spinning. "That's right." Sirius seemed to choose a door at random, but Regulus somehow knew that was not the case. "Each Unspeakable has one in their safe house. You see, there's a reason Unspeakables seem to always be older than other people when they are outed as members. We all have one 12-hour time turner and are required to master Occlumency to the point where we make do with 4 hours of sleep. And protect our status as agents from prying legilimens. Every night at midnight, we apparate to our safe houses, don the time turner -which can't be unchained from its case by the way, as it is protected by wards similar to the orbs in the hall of prophesies- and go back 12 hours."

Regulus thought that was very useful and convenient. It allowed the Unspeakables to work full shifts without missing out on their regular lives in the least. In that mindset, the consistency in their everyday lives, which prevented anyone from assuming they may be DOM members, was just a side benefit. The accelerated aging was the only problem, but one he could definitely see people having no trouble with.

It amazed him that Sirius trusted him enough to bring him into the DOM and share all this information with him. It was also surprising that he could do it without repercussions. He voiced his concerns.

Sirius opened the door and stepped through _first_ this time. "Well, I was able to argue with Croaker until he gave me full control over the wards on the safe house, allowing me to give access to whom I chose." They were in another corridor, wider and darker. "And since the whole point of that argument was to let me smuggle James and Lily along whenever I made the time jump, it involved enough leeway in my secrecy oaths to let me explain this much to them. Because of that, I can explain it to you too. Well, not that it matters. My oaths and vows were set to expire the moment the war ended. I would have taken a different vow of secrecy had I retired, or I would have renewed or replaced them if I decided to stay, but getting shoved into Azkaban prevented both. so I can basically tell anyone anything I want now. Funny how there's a silver lining even there."

Regulus admitted to himself that he was impressed. Sirius must have made some big concessions in other areas to win that boon. "What was the price?"

"An unbreakable vow to spy on Barty Crouch, the DMLE and Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix, again until the end of the war." Regulus almost fell on his face. "And, of course, to never tell them of my extra job here. I was glad the Time Turner limit was 3 people, because I'd have felt too guilty leaving Remus and Peter out otherwise."

The younger Black was reeling from the shock. "You... _spied_ on Dumbledore?" Well well well, the DOM had a reason to think the old headmaster was suspicious or otherwise dangerous to Magical Britain. Or they just spied on him because he was important and they spied on everyone important.

Sirius stopped. "For James, Lily and Harry? Anything." He fell silent, gathering his words. "The opportunity this provided... I was ready to fight tooth and nail for it. I couldn't even imagine the things that Lily and James would achieve in just over a year with those extra 12 hours a day. Lily was researching old lore and ancient protection magics. She even thought she could find a way to render a person immune to the killing curse." He laughed sadly. "Obviously, she succeeded, just not for herself."

The other wizard couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"And James... he threw himself into combat training. Physical, magical, dual-wanded, some wandless, combat transfiguration... he pushed himself so hard, and the way he used family magic was astonishing, there's even a fire spirit bound to House Potter, or there was..." Sirius shook his head and faced his brother. "I'm still astonished how far he was willing to exhaust himself, and injure himself in training, just for Harry. By the time October 1981 came, he was so far beyond me that I thought he might even stand a fair shot against the dark bastard himself. Shows what I know..."

The two stood before the door for a long while, saying nothing.

But at some point, Regulus was worried Sirius had lapsed into another one of his drifting episodes, so he broke the silence. "Why were you approached at all though?"

Sirius saw the blatant change of subject for what it was. "You were the reason actually."

That surprised him. "Me?"

"I was the best lead they had for reaching you, or understanding your way of operation. Croaker approached me and offered to try and see if he could get the obliviation you supposedly did on me undone, but I eventually admitted I was just pretending. Croaker had a laugh, I'll tell you that. After I shared my observations of your skills and tactics, my post in the DMLE and knowledge of young muggleborns placed me in a good position to lead Operation Port-a-Lot."

Regulus couldn't help the snicker. "Operation Port-a-Lot?"

The grin in the other man's voice could be heard. "Yup. Basically, I had a division of Unspeakables that I would accompany or send over to muggleborn or muggle houses to do exactly what you became famous for doing."

Regulus' eyebrows rose all the way to his hairline. He was glad the black void covering his face hid his incredulous expression. He'd been _copied_. He wondered if it was petty of him to feel glad that The Phenomenon and his fame had been established prior to that development.

Sirius faced him and pulled his hood down, even though someone else could show up on that corridor at any moment. "Look, I know you might feel cheated-"

"I don't." He really didn't. "I actually hoped the Ministry would start doing the same. I'm glad someone did it, even if it wasn't the DMLE."

Sirius' grave expression didn't waver. "I also want you to know that if it wasn't for the huge wake-up call you gave us when you 'kidnapped' us, we'd never have considered the possibility that training our butts off could actually make a difference. Before you came along, we thought Dumbledore was and would always be the only one that could succeed against the wanker. And then you showed up, someone we could tell was our age despite the polyjuice, and you could actually challenge the dark bastard, in your own way. James had a fit over being so easily caught by you, and when I scored this deal for the time turner, he gave everything he had to get stronger, and it showed in the look of the house on Halloween... Lots of it was shattered by spellfire, and the walls were scorched. It might not seem relevant, but there were enough runes and charms in that building to make it fireproof. It was clear James was able to match the bastard for a good while. Maybe if I'd gotten there earlier, I might have tipped the scales, even though I wasn't as strong as them, but I didn't..."

Regulus sighed and moved close to give him a hug. Another one. "I know. I tried to get there too, for a whole day but..."

"The Fidelius. Yes, I know."

After a time, Regulus moved away. "Okay, so why are we here?"

Sirius grinned and pulled his hood back on. "Why, to commence the _plan_ of course!"

The younger brother huffed. "Of course."

The Unspeakable grabbed the handle and opened the latest door.

Shockingly enough, it led to a cafeteria. A cafeteria packed with about a dozen different Unspeakables either milling about or sitting at a table and eating.

Gradually, a hush fell over the chamber and everyone turned they heads to stare at the new arrivals. Far to the right, a man choked on a bite of chicken and began to strike himself in the chest. Clearly, everyone was reacting to the intruder who also happened to be the famous and infamous Black Phantom.

"Should I have made myself invisible?" Regulus asked lowly.

"It would have helped," Sirius said seriously. "Honestly, must I walk you through this?"

"Prat. Shouldn't there have been a security checkpoint? Or are Unspeakable safe houses considered infallible?"

"Brat." Sirius finally seemed to notice that no one paid mind to the predicament of the unspeakable choking on his food. "Oh for the love of Merlin!" The voice was distorted now, to protect his identity further. "Will someone prevent that man from suffering death by choking on chicken breasts?"

Finally, the person closest to the beleaguered researcher snapped out of her shock and ran over, striking him on the back several times, hard enough to make him cough up the meat.

Sirius was quick to voice his approval. "There, crisis averted! Was that so hard?"

That finally snapped the others out of their surprise. A few seconds later, thirteen wands were being pointed at the two. A few chairs were upended. Rather noisily too. Some of the unspeakables were alternating between Sirius and Regulus, unsure of who was the bigger threat. It made it plain that, regardless of how creepy and powerful some Unspeakables were, most were just scientists in fancy robes.

But Regulus couldn't prevent himself from quipping. "Now that is just rude."

"Who are you? How did you get in here without authorization?" An older-sounding male finally spoke.

Sirius tilted his head. "And how do you know we don't have authorization?" Regulus had to force himself to stay still. "Come now, it is I! The one and only Wolfhound! I'm here to see Croaker, so if you don't mind..."

"Let me see that authorization if you really have it." His 'order' was sent at Regulus;.

And the youngest Black palmed his face, then looked at Sirius. "You planned it this way, didn't you? Are you too bored perhaps?"

"Blind them?" Sirius asked.

"Blind them." He vanished, leaving but a flock of ravens behind.

"LUMOS MAXIMA!" From the ceiling and the front, two suns erupted and shone so brightly that all the Unspeakables saw only white. _Stupefy, Incarcerous, Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Stupefy._ Five times he translocated, five times his spells landed. _Quiesco, Percido_, _Stupefy_. He _knew_ he shouldn't expect researchers to be too tough. Sirius was an exception, but the rest were mostly untrained in combat. Yet the Black Phantom couldn't help but feel the two of them taking out twelve people was a bit much.

If ever the half-blood bastard had wanted to attack the Department of Mysteries, he'd have had no resistance whatsoever. It made him wonder what would have happened if he'd tried to make a move on the Hall of Prophecies. Beyond the admittedly high prevention wards that denied entry (Sirius' safe house was a rather big blind spot) and the protections of the research items themselves, there seemed to be little actually defending the _people_ in this department.

So much for his illusion that the DOM was some sort of counterpart to MI6 or MI5.

Soon enough, they'd won and everyone was restrained or knocked out. Sirius was twirling someone's wand between his fingertips by the end of it. "Now, if you don't mind, we'll be going to our meeting." And pocketed the wood stick.

With a deliberately casual air, Wolfhound exited through one of the other doors, so Regulus followed him, until they turned a few corners and finally reached a rather ornate-looking double door that obviously belonged to the head Unspeakable.

So, naturally, Sirius Orion Black slammed it open and marched in like he owned the place. "Hey Croaker, how's your scrying these days?"

"-. .-"


	13. Chapter 12: Control? What Control?

**Chapter 12: Control? What Control?**

"-. .-"

The meeting with Croaker had gone well. Almost too well if Regulus was honest with himself. Croaker didn't curse them on sight at least, and his reaction to Sirius', or rather _Wolfhound's_ "entrance" was more long suffering than anything else. Surprise to see him pop up was clear, as was the one brought about by the Black Phantom's presence. Fortunately, Sirius had been right when he theorized that the continued viability of his safe house meant Croaker believed he was innocent, so they didn't have to get into a shouting match or spell exchange.

Sirius seemed to know how to handle the old man. Or maybe Croaker knew better than to bother trying to go against Sirius' obstinacy.

So while he was a bit nonplussed by their appearance, he was more or less calm while he waited for an explanation for their sudden presence.

Sirius then got him to produce a pensieve, after which he pulled a fairly short memory strand, which Croaker, amazingly enough, dove into without worry that the two of them would try something against him while he was distracted. Although with the energy thrumming through that office, Regulus was sure there were some sort of wards protecting the Chief Unspeakable. In absence of such an assurance, it would not have made sense for the doors to be unlocked to everyone.

When he came out of the pensieve just 15 seconds later (which meant the memory was a few minutes long at most), the old wizard had a very shrewd and intrigued look on his face. When Sirius told him Lord Black would finance the project (Regulus had no idea what he was talking about), Croaker looked fit to burst with excitement. When Sirius said he expected a deadline to be met, Croaker waved off his concerns, saying plainly that it was essentially impossible for the endeavor to fail if it had already happened from his perspective. Croaker even agreed to allow House Black full ownership of the GMP patent.

He also _may_ have mentioned that he wouldn't ever miss out on a chance to stick it to those "old farts" in the Wizengamot. Completely ignoring that he was technically older than most of them himself.

Which was precisely the sort of response Sirius had been fishing for, and which made him crack a grin that put even Croaker on edge. The grin was visible because the hood was down, though Regulus' wasn't. Sirius had lowered his after four Unspeakables burst into the office in a fit of panic, only to be run out like children by an irate department head for being rude enough to interrupt an important meeting.

The fact that Wolfhound had even more brazenly barged inside less than an hour earlier, after basically incapacitating a dozen other Unspeakables, was swept aside in the excitement.

Yes, Sirius grinned, and proceeded to brightly explain that since all of _that_ would have to pass, then _obviously_ there would need to be a good enough reason for the Grand Memory Projector, or GMP for short, to be made in the first place. Which meant that Lord Black would have to persuade the minister and DMLE head to set up the long overdue trial, while making everything sound like a means to expose the Black Phantom, which would be enough cause to make the session open and use that as a chance to get the press involved. _All_ the press. _All_ _of it_.

And it had to be done without anyone figuring out the subterfuge. Croaker rightly pointed out that said part of the plan didn't concern him or his department. Sirius agreed, and he also allowed that the DOM couldn't just suddenly pipe up and kickstart things of its own initiative.

Which only left the matter of how to liaise with the ministry, or have a nice private meeting that no one else could learn about. Sirius had already gotten the ball rolling when he time-warped into Amelia Bones' office, and he shared that much. Still, he needed to get the minister on the same page, within 12 hours at most, because he wanted himself out of Azkaban by the end of the next day, "and we wouldn't want to fail and cause a time paradox, now would we?" And since he didn't have a foggiest clue of how to get those two alone, only that he was _going_ to, somehow, he needed assistance.

That time paradoxes, as implied in that sentence, were mostly impossible seemed to be something that only Regulus knew.

So, somehow, Regulus was still amazed at how, Sirius managed to drag a promise out of Croaker that he would use his scrying skills to spy on Amelia Bones and the minister during the following day and get back to him with a way to somehow get the drop on them. Contact would be made through one of the two-way parchments the DOM used to coordinate between agents and sub-departments.

Croaker was a bit annoyed though. So while he did agree to use the water bowl scrying method for what he was asked, he refused to fully reinstate Sirius as Unspeakable. For now. Which meant no time turner. The Chief of the DOM even quipped, rather drily, that Sirius should be satisfied with his ludicrous 2-month turner anyway.

Sirius pouted, but even his admittedly heartwrenching puppy eyes didn't sway the old man.

Then again, Regulus mused, Croaker had a point. After all, _he_ was the one who would have to stare at a water-filled bowl for the next 12 hours or so.

Alas.

"-. .-"

When they got "home," Regulus thought Sirius would finally get some rest, thus allowing him to sleep for a few hours too. It would have been perfect. Sleep would have allowed them to unwind and move to the next order of business calmly later in the day. It would also have had the side-benefit of postponing the unavoidable discussion regarding what Regulus did or didn't do about Harry Potter's life up to that point.

Things, sadly, did not go that way. And it wasn't because of the stupefied reaction of Walburga Black's portrait when she saw both her sons alive and together. If it wasn't for pensieves, Regulus would have been devastated to have lost the chance of taking a photo.

Instead, Sirius decided he wanted to see his godson right away, and would not listen to anyone who would suggest otherwise. Not Regulus and not their grandfather.

It was a bad idea. Regulus could _feel_ it, but nothing he said could dissuade the man from his intended course of action. And trying to immobilize him magically or otherwise move against him within the confines of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was a no go. While there was a chance Sirius would stop the house magic from retaliating again, he didn't want to risk it, knowing how much Sirius valued his godson and would take any attempt to keep him away from him as an unacceptable offense. Brother or no.

So Regulus grudgingly agreed to go with him. Side-along apparate him even. If only to prevent any accident that might happen if Sirius decided to just use some vague, 7 year-old memory of the place from that future trial of his and possibly end up on the porch of a similar-looking house from a completely different suburb.

He wisely did not mention, out loud, that he was mostly going along to prevent Sirius from doing something unfortunate.

It was just before seven when they soundlessly materialized in the back yard of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Regulus immediately disillusioned himself and cast a silencing charm on his feet as well as a notice-me-not for good measure. He _could_ have used the perfect invisibility (transparency really), but then he'd have had to do it to Sirius too, and it would have been a _bad_ idea to make it impossible to keep an eye on the impulsive man. Especially here.

Turning to do the same to his brother, he found him curiously looking at where his shimmering form was. "Done this before, have you?" He asked.

The younger one shrugged, then realized that Sirius probably didn't see it. "Many times."

Sirius looked at him with a calculating expression, but didn't object to being similarly bespelled. He looked around the property and the rest of the neighborhood while Regulus applied the charms. No doubt he was noting the almost identical look of the houses, and how quaint the knee-high fences and back gardens were.

How painfully _normal_ everything looked. Perfectly _mediocre._

Regulus warily moved towards the back door ahead of them, his nerves frayed. This had the potential to become such a _disaster_. It was a minor consolation that, if he deduced things right, nothing majorly bad was supposed to happen before July 30. It was a _minor_ consolation because he could tell it fell to him to make sure disasters got averted.

When they were on the back porch, sounds from inside the house made them stiffen and freeze. Thundering footsteps came down the stairs, and since they could see the entire hallway through the door window they had a clear view of a large tub of lard, Harry's cousin, rounding on the door to the cupboard under the stairs and smashing his meaty fist on the door, again and again. "Wake up and make breakfast, freak!" Then ran into the living room, to turn on the TV, neglecting to undo the lock on the door. Regulus had seen the routine before.

Beside him, Sirius twitched, and the younger Black thought he heard or felt a jolt. Somehow.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if the thin, horse-faced blonde woman didn't come down the stairs and rapped on the same door even more violently. "Up! get up boy!" Then finally unlocked the door and dragged Harry out by the arm, sending him to start breakfast. It was a shrill, abrupt order that Harry obviously expected. His face was almost placid as he did what he was told.

In all honesty, Regulus was shocked that Sirius didn't break down the door. The man just stood ramrod straight, the total lack of flicker in the chameleon coating acting as testament to how rigid he'd gone.

Once the hallway was clear and even the fat Vernon Dursley came down the stairs and lumbered into the living room, Sirius finally made a move, aiming his wand at the door, likely to unlock it, but Regulus grabbed his wrist and translocated them both into the hallway instead. He reapplied the disillusionment immediately.

The young man thanked the stars that today turned out to be relatively mild in terms of the Dursley's... treatment... of Harry. Since there was still school to go to, Sirius wouldn't be treated to the sight of his godson being sent to do chores not suited to someone of his young age, like on weekends. As it was, he only had to hold himself back from cursing the three into oblivion for doing the usual.

Like snapping at Harry repeatedly while he fried eggs and bacon...

Wind started to blow harder outside.

While Harry _cooked their breakfast_ like some sort of slave, Regulus wondered if he was just imagining the feel of gathering static electricity in the air. When Petunia went to the kitchen with her nose in the air, she criticized the results of Harry's "chore" and snapped at him for being ungrateful and burning the bacon (it wasn't really) then pulled him away by the sleeve of his oversized cast-off shirt and told him to take the plates that were ready to the living room. "See if you can at least manage that!"

From their position at the far end of the living room, next to the couch, they could see everything. The kitchen door was right across from them.

There was no longer any doubt that static was gathering. And there was more outside, where the morning sunlight had faded, though it hadn't all gone away.

Then Dudley tried to trip Harry, and the patter of raindrops started. And when the whale of a boy saw his first attempt had failed, he made as if to pull himself closer to the table, but actually pushed it instead, shifting it and hitting Harry in the chest. It made the boy almost lose hold of the two platters, and while he managed to set them on the table successfully, it looked as though he'd dumped or tossed them on purpose, bumping the table in the process.

At least that was how Vernon saw it when his attention was finally pulled away from the newspaper he was reading. The clatter of porcelain on wood was rattling. "Dad, the freak tried to ruin the food!"

Regulus almost didn't react in time. In one second, Vernon Dursley's face went from puce to purple "Watch what you're doing, you stupid boy!" Sirius' form, shimmering, _trembling_ next to him raised his wand to do God knows what, and outside a thunderclap resounded through the air despite the sunlight.

He didn't know how he managed to move faster, but he did. Latching on the first destination that came to his mind, he lunged at his brother and disapparated them both away.

Less than a second later, they crashed on hard concrete at the top of the Aviva Tower in London. They rolled and wrestled for a few moments. Sirius successfully shoved him off and tried to apparate away, but Regulus had already hurled as much energy as he could muster into his anti-disapparition necklace, preventing any attempts within a few meters of him.

Rolling to his feet, the younger son of Black saw Sirius about to step far enough to attempt the translocation again, so he lashed out with his free hand, engaging the runic bracer.

A coil of thin, unbreakable rope shot forward and struck Sirius in the back, tip spreading like a spider web, undetachable. A hard heave pulled the wizard back in range of the anti-transport field, and he even lost his balance and fell to the ground a second time. "Sirius, must we really go through this?" Honestly, this fight between brothers, so soon after their reunion, was such a cliche that it wasn't even funny.

The only response was a growl and an upsurge of electricity that enveloped Sirius and struck out, right _through _the string, despite it not being all that conductive. Regulus released the conjuration, but not before he was electrocuted hard enough to sent him staggering and falling to his knees.

But he wasn't out of it, so he blocked a stunner and gave a growl of his own, before he vanished, appeared right in Sirius' face and grabbed him by the lapels of his vest, shutting off the necklace and force-apparating both of them a second time.

Like before, they ended up crashing, but this time indoors. A cursory glance confirmed he'd reached his destination, the Grimmauld Place tapestry room, but that was as far as he got before Sirius shocked him again, blue and white light dancing in his vision as he was blasted off his brother and sent smashing on the rug, over a meter away.

He grunted and summoned his magic, dispersing remaining jolts and getting a grip on himself immediately, reactivating his necklace while he was at it. It allowed him to roll to his back and look at Sirius Black, who was again showing frustration over being prevented from leaving. Any more of this and all bets were off. If Sirius wanted him to go all Black Phantom on him, he _would_ dammit!

Then again, he was a Slytherin, and he had fewer compunctions about striking were it hurt than others might have. Which was to say, using guilt trips. "Are you going to use Crucio next, brother?" He was crouched low, by choice, and his voice was deliberately rough.

Sirius froze.

"It would be hard to make it hurt much more than the lightning, but I'm sure you'd be able to manage it."

Sirius Black jerked his head, as if emerging from a haze. Which, come to think of it, he might have been in. Only then did he realize he'd been hurling thunderbolts at his brother without any sort of restraint. "Oh shit, Reggie, I'm sorry!"

"Are you?" he plowed mercilessly, pulling himself to his feet. "Are you _really_?"

"Dammit, you know I am!" Sirius bit back on what he was going to say next. "Sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Like you didn't think clearly back in 1981 and contributed to that situation coming to pass?" Sirius flinched, and Regulus felt nauseous, though he didn't show it. It was a low blow, and he knew it, but it wouldn't be the last. "Like you didn't realize that your anger manifesting as a localized thunderstorm above that house would be blamed on Harry's _freakishness_?" Sirius flinched harder. "Like you didn't realize that the first look Harry would have had of you would have been that of a violent psycopath? Scarier than _Vernon_."

Sirius reacted like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said again, head bowed. "I couldn't... when I saw him..." he trailed off. "Gods, he looks just like James, but has Lily's eyes. When I saw those _brutes_ treating James' son that way, I lost it-"

"You didn't lose control, Sirius." Straightening up, Regulus pinned his brother with a hard, long stare. "You gave it up, believing that you'd escape the consequences somehow because _obviously_ things turned out in your favor two months from now."

Sirius was about to mouth something, but it was neither of them that spoke next. Instead, it was one Arcturus Corvus Black, who was seated in an armchair near the corner of the room, reading a tome. In their confrontation, neither younger wizard had noticed him there.

The older man never lifted his eyes from the page. "Come now, Regulus, don't be _too_ harsh on your Lord Black." He turned the page, voice just as casual as ever. He ignored the start that both young men gave. "After all, Harry Potter is _only_ the son of James Potter." He turned another page. Clearly, his occlumency was more than decent given the rate of information assimilation. "And James Potter was _only_ Sirius's brother, in heart, in blood, in magic." Sirius seemed to fold in on himself with every word. "So it is not as though young Harry deserves better, like say... being viewed like his own person instead of a replacement for his father, or a means for Sirius to feel better about himself, a means to offset the guilt he feels over causing James' and his wife's deaths." Another page. "Honestly, you'd think 7 years spent in Azkaban while being innocent would be enough of a hint that there is no need to add self-recrimination on top of it all, but what do I know?"

And just like that, Sirius was slapped in the face with the full force of reality even better than Regulus could have hoped to achieve. But _Merlin_, the old men in their family were some real manipulative bastards.

Not counting Marius.

Once again, damage control fell to him, so Regulus Black moved forward and placed both hands on Sirius' shoulders. "Sirius, Harry deserves someone that will come for _him_, not because of some misplaced guilt." His voice became more gentle. "And _you_ deserve better too. Better than Azkaban. Better than all this misplaced blame you carry that would cripple your ability to love him, and let _him_ love you in return. You _deserve_ the chance to become his fully qualified hero. And you _have_ it. _Two full months _to plan how to get him out of there. Two months to heal your mind, make it strong and whole, on top of the two you've already had. _Use them_."

For a moment, Regulus thought his words failed to reach his brother, but Sirius finally slumped on himself, the tension leaving him. He lowered his head, unable to look his younger brother in the eye anymore. "Will... will you go and check to make sure I... didn't make things worse for him?"

Regulus knew the odds were low of things getting worse after the things he'd done in regards to that home, but saying so would prompt a discussion that would be better held while rested and focused, "The rain probably made them hurry through breakfast and to the car, to make sure they got the trip to school done as fast as possible, before the bad weather extended to the rest of the town." He could see that the reassurance wasn't helping. "But sure, I'll go, if you promise to get some sleep."

Hesitantly, the other wizard nodded and made to leave.

Fortunately, thanks to Marius and Leona, Regulus knew when people should be left alone, and this was not one of those times. So he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and walked with him. "Come on. Your room is where it used to be, but I want to see the look on mother's face again, when she sees the two of us on ever so good terms."

"Are we?" Sirius asked softly as they went through the door.

"What?"

"Are we? Okay I mean..."

He made sure to give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "We are." Though he wasn't sure they would stay that way once they finally had that chat about Harry and what he did and didn't about his poor life.

Then again, maybe he, like Sirius, was only suffering from engineered self-doubts. He could only hope at that point.

Maybe it would be enough.

"-. .-"

After Sirius finally collapsed in his bed and admitted that the sleeping potion would probably help, Regulus stopped by the tapestry room just to inform Arcturus that he would be leaving to take care of some things, then he promptly apparated away. A fleeting visit to Privet Drive confirmed his earlier theory, and a mobile phone call to the surveillance detachment further said that Harry Potter was safely at school. Well, as safe as he _could_ be given the bullies.

The freak weather wasn't blamed on Harry, which was good.

Since he had some time, the wizard stopped by his penthouse to check on the calculations running on his arithmancy computer program (which he'd developed himself, with help from some programmers he'd come to be acquainted with). He always had some sort of spell theory on the grinder. Between those and his ever growing dictionary of runes and symbols, both contemporary and ancient, he'd invented quite a few useful things. The bracelets that shot unbreakable fibers was one of them. The super-thin braided threads were made of conjured silk and rendered durable by an unbreakable charm. The way the end burst open on impact and affixed itself to anything solid was a combination of transfiguration and sticking charms.

Technology couldn't circumvent magic when wizards knew what they were doing, but it sure as hell was damn useful. Loads better than wasting weeks calculating all those equations and making those translations with quill and parchment. Or rather pencil and paper.

Finished, he decided to finally go and spread the good news, so he focused and changed locations, appearing just inside the door of Number 8 Sunshine Road, Greater Whinging, Surrey. He'd ostensibly moved out of there seven years prior, but he'd ended up spending half his weekdays and nights there regardless.

Marius and Leona had been ecstatic.

He made a mental note to stop by the Tonks' home after he was done here.

Quickly moving through the house, he found Leona watering the potted plants in Marius' study. She saw him immediately, and set aside the watering can just in time for the once-upon-a-time aloof wizard to charge at her and grab her in a tight hug. "He's out!" He spun her around, more than once. "He's out! He's out!"

"-. .-"

The sleeping potion managed to keep Sirius down for the total period of two hours, before he was back up and exploring the house. It all was just a way to keep his mind occupied really, until Regulus came back or Croaker contacted him, or both. He had the Chief Unspeakable's two-way parchment in the pocket of his vest.

12 Grimmauld Place seemed quite different from what he remembered. It was all... better lit and brighter. More _homey_ if that made any sense. The severed house elf heads weren't on the wall, for one thing. There were no dark creatures infesting the place either, and even the occasional doxy nest he remembered from the summers during his early school years were gone.

Even _Kreacher_ was being civil.

Case in point, the house elf popped next to Sirius while the wizard was looking through a bookshelf in the library. Although his attention had been drawn to a notice by the wards that someone was at the door. "You be having a visitor, Lord Black." Kreacher said in his wizened, rough voice.

"Who?"

"Mistress Narcissa."

Taking the lack of muttering as an effort on the elf's part to be respectful, Sirius decided to once again postpone the decision of whether or not he should still hate the thing. "I see." He put the book back on the self and walked off, wondering what this could mean. "Thank you Kreacher, you may go." He said absently.

Normally he would have told the elf to either ignore the new arrival or lead them into the parlor, but this particular member of the family required a personal touch.

So he strolled down the stairs and made his way to the entrance. A thought had the wards turn the door transparent from his side. His cousin was dressed to impress, in a long dark cloak and fine acromantula silk robes colored silver, and bearing the Crest of the Noble and Ancient House of Black on her right breast. The new crest. Well, _true_ one. So she'd actually been paying attention during his ascension to headship. Or she still had one of the crests tied into the Black family magic, which was more likely.

But the Malfoy Crest was nowhere in sight. Normally the house she'd been married into would be the main adornment, with her "maiden" house as an accessory to it. Unless she was going to a meeting of her maiden house or wanted to make a different sort of statement, in which case the crests were separate, just as large and side by side.

That she only had the Black Crest on meant she was very worried about how this visit might go, and wanted to pull all the stops to make sure she didn't do herself and her family more harm than good. And not just because of what faux pas it was to drop in on the House Lord uninvited.

Sirius grinned and pulled the door open, casually leaning against the doorframe. "Why hello there, cousin!"

The surprise of being met personally instead of sending an elf for her was only seen in a momentary widening of her eyes, but Narcissa was a lady. So she shrugged off his lack of decorum and made a perfect curtsy. "My Lord Black, you honor me with your personal welcome."

Sirius surveyed her for a long moment, and made a split-second decision to humor her. "Whether it will be a welcome or not remains to be seen." Pushing himself from the door, he stood tall and proud. "Normally I would inquire what worry or grievance the House of Malfoy would have with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and its Lord that you would risk showing up unannounced." His eyes flickered to her crest and back to her blue eyes. "However, from your garb I would presume that you are not here on behalf of House Malfoy."

If Narcissa felt any sort of grief over having to act so deferentially to him, she did not show it. "My Lord Black is perceptive. I have come in the hopes of achieving an understanding as to the events of the night prior, or at least arrange an audience at a later date to that purpose."

"You could have used an owl."

Narcissa inclined her head but said nothing.

"Does your husband know of those events?"

"He does not."

"Does your son?"

"No, my lord."

"Does Lucius know where you are?"

"No. I waited until he left for the ministry and do not expect he will return until later in the day."

Sirius gazed at her. "You have two choices." He said slowly, arresting her attention. "You may turn around and walk away, waiting at home for my summons that may or may not come. Choose this and you may share anything of what you witnessed last night with anyone you wish, never fearing repercussions from me." _Though the family magic may act on its own_ he did not say aloud. "Or you can come inside, but agree to make a Vow under Familiae Magia to not reveal anything of it, or anything else you learn while within these walls, save what I allow."

Obviously, Narcissa wanted to know when, how and why he was out of Azkaban, and why no one knew, but Sirius suspected there was more. So when Narcissa said "I agree to the terms of the second option," he had all the assurance he needed that the latter was true.

Sirius stepped back from the doorway. "The wards will allow you passage." Then turned around and headed towards the parlor, expecting Narcissa to follow, which she did. The door closed itself on its own.

Once they were inside, Sirius turned towards her and held out a hand, not paying mind to how she stiffened in uneasy anticipation. "Familiae Magia." A blue aura enveloped him. "Patrisfamilias Ars Magica: Voco Convotus." The same light and mist formed around her. The air vibrated with it. "Do you, Narcissa Carina Malfoy nee Black, Daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, vow before the Will and Spirit of House Black to not to reveal, to anyone or anything, those things that Lord Black deems should be kept secret? Do you make this promise in the spirit it is demanded?" Which was to say, does she vow to keep her mouth shut without looking for loopholes?

"I, Narcissa Carina Malfoy nee Black, do so swear."

Lord Black didn't let his surprise at her quick agreement show. "So decreed, so witnessed."

"So witnessed, so decreed."

The magic hovered, heavy, then flashed around them both before sinking into their bodies and fading.

Sirius went to the chair of the nearest tea table. "Sit."

Narcissa sat down across from him.

"Do you wear the dark mark of the halfblood once known as Tom Riddle but who used the nom de guerre Lord Voldemort?"

"I do not." She even pulled her sleeves up, both of them. A mental command to the house wards caused a ripple of energy to wash over the witch, dispersing any and all glamors. Fortunately, the skin remained unmarred.

So Sirius decided to cut to the chase. "Okay, let's just drop the formal bullshit." Narcissa managed not to grimace. "The only reason I summoned you last night to act as a witness was just that: to act as a witness. I did not do it to strike fear in you, or to make you worry that I may go after your husband. I _am_ somewhat peeved that he got off scot-free -despite having been everything Voldemort expected from a Death Eater- whereas I spent seven years in Azkaban despite being guilty of none of the crimes I supposedly committed."

Narcissa leaned back in her seat and did not reach for a cup when Kreacher popped in with a tea set.

"However, I am not about to start a manhunt for your husband and, Merlin forbid, son just because of jealousy or resentment. So you can relax and stop making plans to get out of the country for fear that I might summon thunder spirits to strike you and yours down in your sleep." It was true. Whether or not the DMLE would suddenly reopen the cases would have nothing to do with his desire for vengeance that may or may not exist.

The woman somehow looked both relieved and long suffering while she finally partook of the tea. "Still as straightforward and tactless as ever, I see."

"Please, cousin dearest. You haven't exactly been subtle yourself." Sirius shot back easily. "I assume you put only the crest of Black on, thinking that if worst came to worst you could pretend to be disillusioned with your current family for as long as it took to escape this house in case your main fears got confirmed?"

Narcissa paused with her tea-cup half-way to her lips. Then slowly put it back on the table and blinked at her cousin, clearly caught off-guard by his perfect guess.

Sirus grinned. "How _brave_, Cissy. To walk into the beast's den like that, for their sake, or at least Draco's since you said you didn't come here on behalf of House Malfoy. Unless you _lied_ to my face." The Lord Black stirred his tea languidly, his unforgiving smile never wavering. Narcissa was not fidgeting, but it was a close thing. "How very _Gryffindor_ of you."

That _did_ make the witch grimace.

"Nevertheless, I respect acting out of love, so I will give you this warning." The witch made sure to look him straight in the eyes. "It is not just my will you should concern yourself with. Should you choose to remain a Black, you will be subject to the Ancient House Magic, which has a mind of its own and may, occasionally, act independently, as was agreed upon in the Transcendental Compact of the year 450 CE."

That was one of the few things he knew about the Compact. He really needed to somehow get a hold of the actual manuscript sometime, or a rendering of it. Maybe if he just went back in the Hall of Black and asked for it, Morgan la Fey would show up and show him? Weirder things had happened.

"You mentioned this Transcendental Compact last night. What is it?" Narcissa asked, surrendering to her curiosity.

"The reason Family Magic exists, and why no houses except those Most Ancient have it." Which House Malfoy was not. "And that's all you get to know for now. Besides, shouldn't you be more concerned by the sentient aspect right now?"

"I suppose..." Narcissa had a great poker face. She could really hide her worries well, but Sirius still saw them. Maybe he sensed them, like he did during the ritual of the previous night. He definitely seemed to have something like an empathic link to family members now, though it seemed to be inconsistent.

He'd have to ask Arcturus later if it was the same for him. "For instance, last night I didn't intend to call aunt Lucretia, but the family magic summoned her anyway, maybe just so there was an even number of witnesses." He shrugged. "What really concerns you is that whatever I want to keep a secret, the family magic will know, and prevent those who took the vow you just took from revealing it."

The blonde and blue-eyed witch pondered this. "So when you asked if I make the promise in the spirit it is demanded, you left no loopholes open."

"Precisely."

Silence fell, and Sirius was determined not to volunteer more. Narcissa was the one who came for information, and while he did admit he was impulsive and impatient more often than not, in this case he wanted to see Narcissa to crack more than he wanted to brag, so he waited, partaking of the scones with utmost relaxation.

Until, finally, his cousin gave in. "Sirius, how in Merlin's name did you get free without anyone knowing? Actually, how are you free at all?"

To which the Lord Black smiled winningly. "I'm not."

Narcissa gave a double take, trying to reconcile that answer with the fact that Sirius actually was very much in front of her and completely solid. He was having tea for Merlin's sake. "For goodness' sake, Sirius, what do you mean?"

The man's smile broadened. He _may_ have surpassed all expectations by successfully pranking himself, even though he had only begun to do it if he were to go all technical, but that didn't mean he'd lost the taste for pranking _others_. "I'm actually still in Azkaban." And while he already knew what the prank on Lucius would be, there was no way he'd miss the chance to prank Narcissa as well. "And that's all you're going to know about that for now." Oh yes. Giving her the biggest secret on a platter while knowing she'd not be able to share it with anyone was going to be a nice prank indeed.

"-. .-"

Tea done, Sirius stood, and a still confused and frustrated Narcissa did the same. "You may leave if you wish, or you can stay for the family meeting that will take place later today. Just know that your vow will cover any and all revelations that will take place within these walls."

"I understand," Narcissa pondered her choices, visibly forcing herself not to scowl at Sirius for dropping that bomb about Azkaban and not explaining anything further. "Is there a set time for the meeting?"

"Not really, since I only just decided to hold one," Sirius said brightly. "I suppose it will be this afternoon, so..." A quick tempus showed the time. It wasn't even eleven yet. "Still a few good hours I believe. I imagine you'll want to go home to your son? I'll send Kreacher with a note. Speaking of which." With a wave of his wand, Sirius conjured a sheet of parchment and summoned a quill from the inkpot on the liquor cabinet. Quickly writing a note (_Apparate to the Grimmauld Place parlor with your hood up_) he called for his elf. "Kreacher!"

The old elf appeared with a pop and bowed, which Sirius found mildly surprising. "Kreacher, I have a note for you. Deliver it to this person." A swish wrote his brother's name in smoke, and he made sure his body blocked Narcissa's view of it.

"Kreacher will." And he popped away.

"Hmm," Sirius looked around, relaxing and extending his awareness, his wandless human presence revealing spell covering the entire room. "Okay, knowing him, he'll be here in under a minute."

The youngest of the Black sisters must have found his eager smile strange because she became suspicious. "Should I be worried?" It wasn't said _completely_ in jest.

Oh, how Sirius _loved_ that question. "Of a potential heart attack? Maybe."

"Honestly, Sirius." A third voice suddenly pitched in. Narcissa whirled around, startled, and whatever she was about to say died in her throat when she saw the infamous Blank Phantom, terror of Death Eaters, standing _right there_. "Can't you go without setting people up for a prank for even a minute?"

Lord Black could understand her reaction. She'd heard and seen nothing of him, so she must have been having trouble matching the fact that he had just appeared out of thin air with the fact that Grimmauld Place had an anti-apparition ward active.

"Is that a trick question?" Sirius quipped. He wondered if he'd ever stop feeling impressed by his brother's ludicrous talent at apparition. "Or a rhetorical one?"

The black wizard sighed and turned his void face towards the woman. "Should I be waiting for an introduction?" He asked Sirius.

"It's okay, I think," the man answered. "She swore a vow under family magic to not reveal anything I don't let her."

"Ah. So you're using me as a means to totally flummox her then."

"Yup!" Sirius said, idly wondering how long it would take Narcissa to recognize the voice. Assuming she ever did.

"You bastard." The Black Phantom stared at him. "You have no shame."

To which the older wizard pondered his own behavior and shook his head. "Nope. None at all."

The younger Black scoffed. "At least you're sincere." Then he took pity on the woman who found it increasingly hard to cope with being so rudely ignored. "Don't feel bad," he told her. "He did the same to grandfather Arcturus last night."

"You're the Black Phantom." Narcissa said numbly. And warily. Sirius was fairly sure Regulus had kicked the ass of Lucius Malfoy at some stage during the last stages of the war, like he'd done to lots of Death Eaters at one point or another, so her emerging fear was understandable. "You're... You're a Black?"

"Apparently," the youngest person in the room said blandly. Then, finally taking pity on her, he pulled his hood back and caused Narcissa Malfoy to gape in stupefaction. Sirius decided, right then and there, to treasure that memory for all time. "Hello there, cousin. Long time no see."

Narcissa Malfoy _nee_ Black fell back in her chair.

A minute passed.

Then another.

And another. "Er..." Sirius broke the silence. "I don't suppose this would be a good time to mention that most of the people attending today's meeting will be so-called 'blood traitors'?"

Silence.

Slowly, Regulus turned to regard him. "What meeting?"

Which was when Sirius' good mood evaporated and he became grim almost instantly. "I think it's high time we start on The Plan."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we just do that?"

"Not the _plan_. _The_ Plan."

"Oh." Regulus became somber as well. Sirius wondered if he should dread the discussion any more than he already did. "Then I suppose it's my turn to reveal a few things." He glanced at the still shell-shocked woman. "In private if possible."

"We'll use the study." Sirius agreed, then addressed Narcissa. "Sorry, cousin, but we'll have to leave you. You can seek out grandfather Arcturus and catch up -he should be in the library or the tapestry room- or go home to your son. I'll send Kreacher with a note saying the time and place if you still wish to attend the gathering later on."

Striding out of the parlor, Sirius quickly ascended the stairs to the first floor and headed towards the room they'd chosen. Once there, he considered sitting at the desk and inviting Regulus to sit across from it, but decided to pull the chair and sit face-to-face, with nothing between the two of them.

"Right," Regulus began, once he was seated. "Well... I don't know how much you learned in the future. Where should I start? Halloween?"

"No. I doubt... I don't think I'd be up for hearing about Harry a second time once the meeting happens." Sirius steeled himself and took a deep breath.

"Why hold a meeting? And who would you want to summon? The ones from last night?"

"Some... Along with Marius Black." The surprise was clear on the younger man's face. "And Andromeda and Ted, or at least Ted because I think I'm supposed to get him to tend to past-me over the next couple of months, under constantly changing polyjuice disguises which, I think, you'll be supplying..."

Regulus blinked.

"Right..." Since he'd straddled it, Sirius crossed his forearms over the top of the chair's back. "Anyway how about you start on the day you decided not to be a Death Eater anymore?"

"Well, it wasn't a day, more like a night."

"-. .-"

They talked until noon, reaching up to the 1981 night right after Regulus' return from Sicily. The older Black was a bit skeptical of the story of that Raphael person, but didn't suspect Regulus of lying. And he was honestly touched that it never even occurred to his brother that he might have betrayed the Potters. He was also glad that Regulus had long ago dealt with the guilt of failing to apprehend Pettigrew and Rookwood properly. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle someone else's guilt on top of his own.

What relieved him most, however, even more than hearing of Regulus' constant contact with the Tonks, was the fortune of landing with Marius Black and his wife. He'd suspected, hoped for it really, that Regulus had stumbled upon or been found by Marius somehow after his defection, but there had still been that niggling fear that Regulus had been forced to fend for himself during the last two years of the war.

Sirius smiled when Regulus revealed Ted's identity concealing "solution" that made him the official son of Marius and Leona Black in the muggle world. Maybe it had only been a "solution" at first, but it was obvious it had become more later on. It was clear as day that there was a definite parent-son relationship between the three. Sirius felt well and truly happy for his brother, and he hated the little spark of jealousy he felt, jealousy over the fact that only Regulus got to learn what it would have been like to actually have a functional, loving _blood_ family.

Back when he was still a teenager, especially after running away from home, Sirius truly loved the Potters, but he always wondered what life would have been like, and how he would have turned out, if Orion or Walburga had shown even a smidgen of the affection and care that Dorea and especially Charlus showed him. Then again, Dorea was a blood relative too, so Regulus situation was almost a mirror of his own.

Near midday, Sirius felt the parchment in his pocket vibrate and heat up. When he read it, he found a summons from Croaker. By how abrupt it was, Lord Black suspected the old man wasn't in the best of moods. Presumably, bringing Regulus along _again_ would not help said mood.

Which was why, naturally, Sirius invited him along. He just made a stop at the tapestry room to summon who he wanted at the meeting before heading out.

Ten minutes later, Croaker, who shot the Black Phantom a wry look, played one of his most recent memories in his pensieve. They didn't dive in. Rather, Croaker made the pensieve act like a scrying bowl, only it replayed a scrying episode from earlier in the day. Just half an hour earlier as it were.

It showed a bird's eye close-up of Amelia Bones and minister Bagnold, both disguised, meeting at a cafe.

And an unknown man suddenly appearing from thin air at the same table, only to identify himself as Lord Black.

That was when Sirius understood why Croaker was so annoyed. As far as he knew, the only way someone could just pop up like that was if, as far as the world knew, he was suddenly just _there_. Which, as far as Croaker knew, meant Lord Black had used a time turned to go back in time and show up there, knowing he would do it.

And since Sirius _only_ had the ludicrous 2-month turner with uncertain hour/minute/second accuracy, that meant Croaker would have to hand him a standard one after all. The head Unspeakable made an attempt to only issue him one of the models with a 6-hour range, but Sirius instantly shot that down by saying he'd just wait until 7 hours passed. That would force Croaker to give him a 12-hour turner_ anyway_, in order to avoid a time paradox.

After a half-hearted try to make Sirius swear an oath to return the turner (which Sirius again refused based on that same argument) and a last ditch threat by Croaker (that he would not give him a turner at all and let him try his luck two months later, hoping a total turn would deposit him there at the intended place and time), he handed over the 12-hour model. Apparently, he'd expected to lose the argument because he'd already prepared the artefact.

Sirius could understand his concerns. That the turner would be used in a cafe meant it would not be bound to a safe house, which provided a lot more leeway for causing mayhem.

Which suited Sirius just fine.

Nevertheless, Sirius decided to cut the old man some slack and vowed to himself to return the time turner after he was done with it. Part of the reason was that he didn't dare try to make too many of him go around, especially with the rather ludicrous 2-month time loop he was already in. With his luck, having so many instances of the same man and/or time turner running around would cause some sort of disharmony bad enough to shatter or otherwise ruin the hourglasses. He didn't pretend to understand the magic and mechanics involved. Even the Unspeakables specializing in time didn't.

More importantly, returning it without a vow would prove to Croaker that Azkaban hadn't taken away his sense of responsibility completely. It would heal their strained relationship and convince the old man to reinstate Wolfhound faster, at which point he could resume the double-life if he wished to.

But he didn't reveal his intentions as he and Regulus left. He also didn't mention that Regulus could cast a transparency spell whose cancellation could produce much the same effect of "appearing out of thin air" as time turners.

That said, since the meeting was supposed to have happened just an hour prior, Sirius decided he would go meet the two women alone, after Regulus provided him with the necessary polyjuice and hairs (which he never failed to keep a supply of, at his home). From what they saw of the scrying scene, Lord Black would exchange some rather heated words with the two women. Sirius suspected why. After the scene he'd witnessed earlier in the day, he had some anger to channel. And how could Harry's cousin, who couldn't be much older than 8 himself, be such a loathsome creature he had no idea.

Soon enough, he was disguised and sitting at the tabl_e _in_Cafe Vergnano, 1882, 62 Charing Cross Road_, London. It was mercifully unoccupied. So after checking his platinum, mechanical pocket watch (no reason to cast Tempuses in muggle areas), he cast a notice-me-not on himself, spun the hourglass and waited for the world to stop shifting and moving backwards. The sensation ended soon, depositing him in a now familiar scene.

"You're telling me the Boy-who-lived has been living a life of slavery in an abusive household? And I only learn this _now_?" Minister Millicent Bagnold demanded of Amelia.

So Sirius took that as his cue. "Yes."

Both women jumped. Millicent even cursed.

"-. .-"

When Sirius got back to Grimmauld place, he disillusioned himself (he would _definitely_ have to get Regulus to share his invisibility spell), silenced his feet and headed for the sitting room, where the wards told him quite a few people had assembled. He stopped at the entrance and surveyed the chamber. There was Narcissa of course, sitting near the left wall, talking to Pollux Black in hushed tones. Following their frowns, he saw that they were looking at Marius, who was wearing a nice dark grey business suit that, since it wasn't a robe, probably offended their pureblood sensibilities. Though the seating arrangement may have had something to do with it as well.

Marius was at the other end of the room, in an armchair rather more comfortable and fancy than half of the rest. Regulus had probably led him to it. While Marius had yet to be reinstated in the House of Black, Sirius had told Regulus to bring him over even before his sibling had a chance to suggest it.

The tables had been removed from the chamber, probably by Kreacher. And the chairs and armchairs were arranged in a semicircle, of sorts so that everyone could see the large white screen Regulus had set up in front of the fireplace, where no fire burned. The biggest and coolest of the chairs had been placed in the middle, slightly higher than the others. It was were he would have to sit, Sirius supposed.

That put Marius at the far _right_ end of the semicircle, in clear view of the head of house.

Which was probably why Arcturus had commandeered the seat right across from him, at the far left. Sirius internally scoffed at the blatant internal family politics that Arcturus was trying to pull, and studied his grandfather's carefully blank expression. It must be galling for him to be put on the _left_, especially since he'd been head of house up to less than 24 hours prior. That Marius seemed to be ignoring him, along with everyone else except Regulus, couldn't be helping.

On Marius' side were Ted and Andromeda, as well as Lucretia Prewett.

On Arcturus' side were the aforementioned Narcissa Malfoy and Pollux Black, plus Cassiopeia Black.

Morgana's tits, he was going to have to really knock some heads together if he had any hope of eliminating this split.

No seat appeared to exist for Regulus, but given how he was now spelling up some sort of muggle electronic device in the air above and behind the head of house 'throne,' the young man was clearly getting ready to make a presentation and didn't expect to do anything but stand and maybe walk around.

Sirius smiled in bemusement. When he said he'd called a house meeting to discuss Harry, he didn't expect Regulus to do something like this. But then he remembered that his brother had basically been preparing for this for years, even as he kept looking for anything that could pull Sirius from Azkaban (despite the prediction he'd be there for seven years).

There was a good thing though, about the undivided attention given by the members of House Black to the subjects of their well-hidden contempt (or in Cassiopeia's case _not_ so hidden). In addition to the semi-darkness in the room, caused by the closed drapes and dim magical lights from the chandelier, it was enough to let Sirius walk to his spot and sit down without anyone noticing.

So when he dropped his disguise and spoke, everyone jumped or otherwise lost their composure, even if only for the briefest of time. "Thank you all for responding to my sudden summons." By all accounts, it seemed as though he'd apparated in his chair.

Regulus, of course, wasn't fooled, given the eyebrow and the total lack of pause in the activity of swishing his wand and floating a compact disk into the tray of a box-like thing on the ground. It must have been one of those computer things that Regulus talked about. Upon giving a closer look, Sirius noticed the shimmers of disillusionment alongside the edge of the white rollable screen, and in the air above them. Regulus had apparently affixed the cable between the computer and the projector in the air with charms, and disillusioned them for good measure.

Lucretia found her voice first. Well, Arcturus might have spoken as well, but since he'd been at Grimmauld Place since the day before he couldn't exactly speak for the others. "After the events of last night, I felt compelled to be present, if only to confirm that they were not a dream."

"An understandable sentiment," Sirius said diplomatically.

"And why _did_ you call us here, sonny?" Cassiopeia rather abruptly cut in. Sirius slowly turned to her and raised an eyebrow, waiting. "I mean. Ahem. May we know why we are here, Lord Black?"

"Had you not given in to your impulse, we might have gotten closer to revealing that." Seeing no rebuke coming, despite the pursed lips of the old woman, Sirius stood, which prompted the others to do so as well. He surprised Andromeda with a hug, shook Ted's hand, and did the same to Marius, pushing down the impulse to hug him. After greeting the rest of the family, he returned to his position.

"Before we start, I will require all recognized members of the House of Black, save Regulus and Narcissa who's already taken hers, to swear a vow of secrecy in front of the Family Magic."

"What?" Cassiopeia again. Honestly, why was she here again? Pollux must have dragged her over. "Why would we-"

"Aunt." Sirius cut her off, glaring at her straight. "Perhaps you have mistaken this meeting with one of your gossiping get-togethers where you believe you can harass whoever you choose without consequence. So let me make this perfectly clear: you either abide by the conditions I am going to set, or you can leave and pray I do not set the family magic on you in any more radical a way than I did last night."

The woman snapped her mouth shut.

"Of course, I _am_ fully willing to free you from every obligation and link to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black if you believe your will should take precedence over that of Lord Black." The woman flinched. "After all, I wouldn't want to go down in our family's history as an unreasonable man that would not allow you to follow your own path." Sirius wondered if it made him a bad person that he enjoyed seeing her go pale in the half-light. But by Morgana, she reminded him of his mother so much that he couldn't help but vent some of his anger on her. "My summons was on an as-agreed basis, not forced. So either accept the conditions of participation, or _leave_."

It might have been the shock of being rebuked, or mistaking the order for a threat that she would be cast out of the family if she left, or the feeling of gathering static, or maybe the very faint blue shimmer that flared on Sirius's skin for the briefest of moments, but it made the woman bow her head. "I apologize for my outburst, Lord Black. It was uncalled for."

Satisfied, Sirius swept the rest with his gaze, resting on Arcturus. "And before any others of you ask, no, the ones on my right, aside from Lucretia, have not been reaccepted in the House of Black at this time. No, they will not be asked to make any promises in regards to the information. No, I am not worried they will be the source of any leaks. And even if I were, I would have no right to dictate how and when to divulge the information, seeing as how it is _theirs_ in the first place."

Sirius ghosted over Regulus' carefully hidden approval, meeting Marius' calculating gaze instead. The young lord found himself studying the man much like he'd done to Arcturus the previous night. Marius was studying him intently, reminding Sirius that this was basically the first time he'd seen him in over a decade. And that they'd never actually talked, chronologically speaking. It was strange, when the wizard vividly remembered crying his eyes out in the man's arms just over a day before, from his perspective.

"Now, if there are no more complaints?" No one said anything. "Then we shall proceed. Familiae Magia."

Everyone except Andromeda, Ted Tonks, Marius and Regulus gave their vows. No one dared question why the youngest Black got out of it.

That done, Sirius took a deep breath and steeled himself against what was about to happen. "The purpose of this meeting is threefold. Firstly, to ascertain the degree of harm inflicted upon one of our own over the past seven years." That made everyone look at him, and it was surprising that not all of the ones under vow assumed he was speaking about himself. "Secondly, to figure out how that harm can be undone. And thirdly, to confirm those responsible for it and see how we might hold them accountable." He paused ominously. "With prejudice."

He waited until Lucretia decided to take the plunge and ask. "And who is the injured party, my lord?"

"Harry James Potter." Cassiopeia gasped, though it was more because of how _big_ the blackmail material was bound to be. Pollux, meanwhile, looked closer to aghast, though not by much. Everyone else looked grim, tough not surprised since everyone, save Arcturus and Narcissa who could likely guess, knew better than him how horrible things were.

"I believe you'd know him as the grandson of..." _my mother_. He turned to Lucretia. "...your aunt." Then to Cassiopeia. "And your sister, dear aunt of mine. Dorea Potter nee Black."

"Merlin..." Pollux breathed. "This is going to be a series of shocks one after the other, isn't it?"

Sirius ignored him and retook his seat, at which point the others did the same.

Regulus didn't move from where he stood though, next to the white sheet of vinyl he'd prepared and gestured with his wand at it. "This is a screen where images will be projected from that," he pointed at the metal box with a lens floating in the air behind Sirius "-video projector." The next five minutes were spent explaining the basics of how the device would display photos and other things stored on the computer system near his feet. Sirius noted that Regulus had a monitor on a tray at elbow-level, to double-check everything.

The left side's reactions to learning that those things were muggle inventions were priceless.

"Okay, first off what do you know happened to young Harry on Halloween 1981?"

Narcissa scoffed, albeit in a very dignified way. "Nothing except that Dubmledore said he was safe."

"And the sheep believed him," Cassiopeia -Sirius decided to call her Aunt Cassie in his head- grumbled.

"Well then, I'm afraid you'll be in for, as grandfather Pollux would say, quite a few shocks." He tapped a key on the keyboard and flicked his wand at the projector, causing the white screen to come to life. It showed a photo of him in the air, looking down on a muggle neighborhood, at night. "Then again, you might not be."

What followed was a picture-assisted explanation of the what's, how's and likely why's. Sirius wondered how Regulus figured out how to transfer snapshots from his memories into pictures.

"-. .-"

An hour later, Regulus had finished explaining everything that happened with Harry, Sirius and himself between October 31 and November 15, 1981. Everyone in the room who _didn't_ already know all those things was shocked into silence. Even Arcturus was somberly gazing on the photo of Number 4 Privet Drive.

"But if they seemed like bad people, why didn't you take him away from there?" Lucretia asked for everyone.

"At first it was because they seemed to more or less tend to him, so I hoped they would be enough to raise him and bear with his presence until Sirius got out of Azkaban, since I was told by a seer he would spend seven years there." He answered. "Besides, what was I supposed to do? Kidnap him? Without checking to see what spells Dumbledore may have cast on him? Because I doubted it was only that blood ward."

"What _did_ you do then?" Pollux asked.

"Well, for one I called some contacts I have in the nonmagical secret service." That got a few blinks. "I got them to set up a permanent watch in the area. And let me tell you, with all that's happened to the poor kid during the last seven years, they aren't impressed with us at all. First off, I'll just tell you what his life is like right now." From there Regulus launched into a detailed description, from the minimal care and feeding, easily crossing into malnutrition territory, to the outright slavery he'd been reduced to as soon as he could walk and talk.

Everyone listening and watching the projected presentation got more and more horrified and outraged as the recounting wore on. Narcissa, who had a son of the same age, was affected particularly much, and even Cassie, the old crone, had dropped her abrasiveness in favor of stunned disbelief. Not necessarily at the abuse, maybe, since she probably considered that all muggles were that way. No, she was mostly stunned that goody two-shoes Dumbledore had allowed it all, maybe done _worse _even.

"How could you leave him there?" Narcissa blurted accusingly at Regulus.

The younger man didn't hide his regret, but stood by his decision. "You mean besides the fact that I felt Sirius deserved to be the one to save him after spending 7 years in hell for him and his parents?" Sirius felt a pang of love for his brother mixed with resentment over using him as an excuse to leave Harry in his own sort of hell. "I knew that he would come out of prison and do it, so I wanted it to be done legally, if possible, and kidnapping Harry would have bollixed thing up a lot. Also, during the first few years, things weren't so bad that the protection of the blood ward was offset. And there was a different problem with Harry that I had to deal with that took precedence, and in some ways still does."

The still image changed to that of toddler Harry sleeping. "Before you ask, yes, he is sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, which has been his room ever since he was dumped by Dumbledore on the porch." The image zoomed in on the scar. "And here is our problem. The cursed scar." Regulus regarded his audience. "On the night I tailed Hagrid, I cast a cursory scan on Harry and found that he hadn't received a checkup. I was too tired at the time to do a full scan, and the next day I got embroiled in the mess with Sirius' arrest and everything, and it monopolized my time for the next two weeks."

"After that, I got MI6 to set up the permanent watch, much like spies would infiltrate other countries and take up new identities in anticipation of years of service. Then, one night I, along with Ted and Andromeda, snuck into the house, spelled the Dursleys asleep and took Harry to the living room, also under a sleep spell, and performed all the diagnostics and scans we could think of, and then some." The looks the two spouses received ranged from reserved (Arcturus) to appreciative (Lucretia and Narcissa, surprisingly). "Ted and Andromeda, you will find, are fully qualified healers and have been for over 10 years each."

"For the most part, he was fine, but the scar came out strange. It _reeked_ of darkness actually, and we established that there was something not _of_ him in it." Sirius listened with mounting dread as Regulus did his best to sound collected as he spoke on. "Look, there's no easy way to say this. Harry Potter is Tom Riddle's Horcrux."

"What?!" Sirius thought it was him that shouted. He thought _he_ was the one that voiced his denial, but instead he'd just frozen and grabbed the armrests so hard that his hands went white.

It turned out that Arcturus, of all people, reacted so explosively. "You're telling me that delusional madman mad a horcrux and shoved it in a baby?"

"Not by choice, obviously," Regulus confirmed. "I've found he prefers ancient artefacts, especially those belonging to the founders of Hogwarts. It's why I defected in 1979 actually: I found one. It was Salazar Slytherin's locket. Unfortunately, while getting past the defenses and replacing it with a fake and a rude-sounding note was one thing, destroying it was another."

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. Sirius couldn't help the thinning in his breathing.

"He made _more than one?_" Arcturus collapsed back in his seat. "Merlin's staff... He's still alive isn't he?"

"No," Regulus said, and some of the others looked at him with barely hidden hope. "Well, not exactly. I think he's out there somewhere, but disembodied, a mostly powerless wraith. He won't pass on until all his anchors are gone. Which they aren't, and won't be as long as Harry's scar is still around."

"How many did he make?" Pollux asked. He sounded a lot more composed. Since he'd always been more of a researcher, he was able to distance himself from his reaction easier.

"By my reckoning, he was likely aiming for three or seven, since those are powerful numbers in arythmancy. I think he _intended_ to use Harry's murder to make one more, but whatever object he brought with him to Godric's Hollow was either destroyed in the battle with James Potter or taken by the cleanup crew afterwards. If that is true, then I think seven was his target, because he already had at least three at the time: the two I have, and one I have a strong reason to suspect was given to Bellatrix."

Despite feeling sick over what he now knew was in Harry's head, Sirius couldn't help the appreciative look he, like the others not in the know, shot the young man. "Did I hear that right?"

The projection snapped to the photo of an ornate locket with the letter S on it. "Salazar Slytherin's locket, which Kreacher and I retrieved from a seaside cave." Then a different picture showed a ring with a black stone. A symbol was in it, with a triangle holding a circle, both evenly divided by a vertical line. "And Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, which I got from the Gaunts' shack in Little Hangleton a few years back. There was a nasty curse on this one, and a compulsion to put it on and thus activate said lethal curse, but my emergency portkey whisked me away before I could touch it, and when I went back the compulsion didn't activate again. The curse was hard to break. Ted and Andromeda helped a lot, and Kreacher and I had to drop by here and go to the library quite a few times. It was fun to dodge mother. She never did learn I never died."

Sirius felt the emotions of the others through his connections. They were equal parts impressed with the ability of Ted and Andromeda, and Regulus of course, to outdo Voldemort, and outraged that blood traitors expelled from the house were allowed access to the knowledge hoard of House Black.

Fortunately, no one commented on that.

Time to get the meeting back on track. "Right. As fascinating as this tangent is, you were saying something about my godson?"

Regulus nodded and switched back to the image of Harry sleeping. Sirius wondered bitterly how the hell the kid could look so relaxed with that thing in his head and when confined to the cupboard under the stairs. "You can imagine that when the readings came in and I realized what I was looking at, I almost panicked."

Ted managed a weak burst of laughter. "Yes, you _almost_ panicked. It's more that I can say for myself. I almost lost my dinner."

"I'm hoping..." Sirius intervened. "...that your choice of words implies you think there is a way to free Harry from that parasite?"

"It's a miracle it's confined to the scar actually," Regulus said. "It's the protection his mother left him, and which must have rebounded the killing curse on Tom in the first place. Actually, that's another weird thing. The blood wards have evolved over the years, changed. And the way they checked my dark mark in the first day was nearly _sentient_. Knowing what I know of souls and spirits, I'm tempted to think it's no mere protection left by Lily Potter. The energy suffusing his body, his skin, and the way the Blood Ward behaves... I think the protection _is_ Lily Potter."

No one had any idea what to say to that. Sirius himself didn't.

Regulus cleared his throat. "Anyway, the protection confined the Horcrux or the soul fragment, to the scar. From my readings, the soul fragment constantly pulls on Harry's magic and life force, but Lily's protection is doing a good enough job keeping it sealed. Or did for a time."

"For a time?" Sirius asked. He was already getting emotionally exhausted from all the revelations. Maybe it was a good thing.

"We couldn't exactly do anything immediately. We had no idea _what_. And as long as the blood ward worked and those people fed and clothed Harry, we decided it was more important to try and find a way to get the taint out. So we researched everything we could in the Black Family library, and whatever other tomes I could find on the black market or other countries. I even went to other magical enclaves, although some promising ones like Shangri La didn't allow me access because of the 'darkness clinging to me,' which was probably the Dark Mark. I also admit to a certain level of naivite here, because I actually believed Dumbledore would put at least a token effort to ensure Harry didn't live _too_ horribly. Sadly, as learned soon after he turned five, I was wrong."

Sirius thought he was emotionally exhausted, but now he saw he was wrong. He sharply looked at his brother and away from the sleeping image of Harry, which he hadn't been able to tear his gaze away from. "What did he do?"

"What did he do indeed." The room had been plunged into near total darkness earlier, when the projection started. It gave the youngest black an eerie look, especially in that moment when the family magic flared in his eyes. "To my everlasting regret, I was out of the country for a couple of months in 1986 when it happened. Whatever set Dursley off occurred sometime during that period. I think Harry might have done some particularly obvious accidental magic. Legilimency on the man and woman netted odd results, indicating obliviation..."

"Will you just spit it out?" Sirius snapped.

Regulus paused and made as if to tap a key on the keyboard, but drew his hand back. "The... scars-" Sirius stiffened "-on Harry's back and bottom-" He grabbed on the armrests of his chair again "-had already set in by the time I went to check up on things there." Sirius squeezed the armrests hard enough to feel his bones on the verge of popping.

The air seemed to get thicker and _louder_ somehow. "Continue." It was bizarre to Sirius how blase his own voice was now, despite how tight his muscles had coiled. But it shouldn't have been,_ or to _the others who looked ready to bolt. Not when the family magic of Black manifested itself as lightning. After all, the temper, the reactions of the family members were always steady, calculated, drawn-out, deliberately maximized until they mounted and mounted, finally slamming like bolts of lightning and obliterating everything they are aimed at.

"I think the male lost his temper when Harry performed accidental magic and gave Harry a beating with his belt, unloading years' worth of frustration and resentment." The "male" was it? So even Regulus considered the Dursleys animals. Good to know. "And later, when no one of _us_ came, he realized that no one was watching or cared about Harry enough to bother. Or maybe he thought we magicals _approved_. Either way, by my reckoning Harry got beaten quite severely several times, sometimes before the skin healed from the previous hiding. I don't really want to know why Dumbledore waited so long before he intervened, but I wish he never had because I actually needed Marius to talk me out of committing murder." He paused. "On Dumbledore that is."

Others may have laughed, but they all remembered who they had in front of them. The Black Phantom definitely earned his reputation, no matter what age he was. "Not for delaying though." Regulus continued. "That much could be excused in lots of ways. No, it was how he 'handled' things that bothered me. He obliviated the Dursleys, except the boy, of the so-called 'punishments,' presumably thinking that eliminating the history would curtail further outbursts. Thankfully didn't turn his wand on Harry... but the 'steps' he took to prevent the... conditions... from happening again... let's just say they... displeased me."

With familiar motions, he raised a shield around the projector and his computer. "And by that I mean that he must have thought things would be okay if Harry never did accidental magic again. So he bound it."

Sirius shot from his chair. The air crackled around him and he felt like he wanted to destroy something, to punch the lights out of that old man. Binding magic. Halting a person's development could be disastrous. At best it prevented one's full potential from being realized. At worst, the binding could break and leave the balance strained, or gone. Dumbledore must have had total faith in his ability if he didn't worry about that possibility. Or maybe he didn't care.

Sirius walked over to where Regulus was and looked at the keyboard, spotting the arrow keys and pressing the one he guessed would move things on.

The image of Harry's scarred back was suddenly there for all to see. The light was cast upon him, making him part of the image. It was oddly fitting, for him to be part of the screen. Just like he was a large part of the cause for those scars existing, he was part of the picture now.

Regulus resumed. "I don't know if Dumbledore used the soul fragment as a justification, in his mind, for the binding. He may have convinced himself the soul fragment would grow more powerful the stronger Harry's magic got. That it was trying to use Harry's accidental magic to harm the Dursleys. I think he might not even know about Horcruxes at all, given his history and leanings. I think he fears possession by the fragment more than anything else. Or whatever so-called 'good' justification he uses for his actions. Assuming he even knows there's a soul fragment there, which, based on the meager scans I detected on him that night, is unlikely." Sirius had moved away and walked off, stopping behind his chair and pacing, trying to cool off. Strangely enough, Regulus' obvious disgust helped.

"It's not that," Sirius said brokenly. "It's the prophesy.

Everyone who didn't suspect leaned in.

Sirius sighed. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

"Ah," Regulus nodded. "So you knew it? That's what it says? I suppose Dumbledore made his own interpretation, regardless of what the seer themselves thought, and then decided that the prophesy didn't fulfill that night, despite Riddle being definitely vanquished, if not permanently removed from this world."

Sirius felt like his heart was constricting and stopped driving a trench in the floor. "For neither can live while the other survives..."

The black magician hummed. "So Harry must only survive but not live in order for him to remain the subject of the prophesy." It was a cool, clinical assessment. It somehow helped Sirius detach himself as well. A bit. "I suppose Dumbledore considered it lucky that he had those freaks to send Harry to. Otherwise he might have had to more... _actively_ ensure a hard life for him, lest he be proven wrong about the identity of the prophesized one, or the validity of the foretelling itself. Then again, I admit I am biased against the old headmaster, so don't mind my ramblings. Maybe he wouldn't have gone that far."

Sirius wanted, _wanted_ to believe Dumbledore was still a good person. But there was no denying that he'd done despicable things, regardless of the reasons. Or at least allowed despicable things to happen. Turned a blind eye. Maybe he, Sirius, too, was biased, but he couldn't help but feel that it was more inexcusable for horrors to be perpetrated in the name of good, than by people who are clearly evil and demented. At least the bad guys have those excuses.

"At any rate," Regulus cut through his thoughts. "I removed the binding immediately."

That stopped Lord Black in his tracks.

"We, that is Ted, Andromeda and I, were going to wait until you came out of prison and took Harry away from there before doing anything about the soul fragment. But that event accelerated our plans. We'd come up with some theories. Now, technically, the Killing Curse would have had a 50-50 chance of working."

Sirius froze and looked at his brother, hoping he was joking, but knowing he wasn't. He, too, was a Black, and he actually knew something of Horcruxes.

"The problem is that if the spell affects the person instead of the soul fragment, the latter could very well take over the body, which would mean we'd have to kill it anyway. Also, using Avada Kedavra on a person, even if it does hit the Horcrux, could leave said person unwhole, forever. Maybe insane, or with chaotic magic, or no magic at all, or catatonic. It can go any number of ways."

"So we looked at rituals. We tried exorcism first. It was easy to prepare. A few space expansion charms in the attic and we had all the room we needed. Liberal use of silencing and light-containing wards were involved of course. Unfortunately, it didn't work, even with the modifications we made to the circle."

"Anyway, that was one attempt. Then we decided to try the Magic Channeling Ritual."

Sirius blinked and almost shouted at Regulus that he was insane. "What did you just say?" Channeling meant stealing a person's magic. It was a dark ritual that almost never worked. Invented by a warlock that wanted to take another's magic and add it to his own, he ended up blowing into pieces along with the victim because of an unexplained surge in energy in both.

"Calm down," Regulus shot back. "Or do you think I'm stupid enough to just use it? Obviously, we thought things through. We were lucky the scar is shaped that way actually." Another tap on the keyboard brought back the close-up on said scar. "Now, what does the scar look like to you?"

Pollux answered instead. "Sigel."

"Exactly," Regulus said. "Sigel, Sowilo, Sig. The Sun rune. It means Success, goals achieved, honor. The life-force, health. I imagine the symbol is why neither Harry nor the soul shard are doing any better or any worse than ever. They are both experiencing success at staying as they are. Now, imagine the rune twisted like _so_." The image rotated counterclockwise just a bit. "And a dash added here, what does it become?"

"Raidho," Narcissa said this time. "It means Travel, both in physical terms and those of lifestyle direction. Also evolution and change, among other things."

"Right," Regulus nodded. "So we set up another ritual in the attic, and painted the Raidho rune on Harry's forehead including the scar in it. Then we did the ritual and it seemed to work."

"But it didn't..." Sirius sad unnecessarily, moving back to his chair and collapsing in it.

"It seemed to," Regulus pressed. "By painting the rune there, and modifying where and how Harry lay, we managed to use the scar as the target of the process. We _did_ start draining the energy, but for some reason the soul shard began to leech of Harry's energy at some point, or it always did. Or maybe Harry was supplying the power himself for some reason, we're not really sure."

"Then we tried to use another rune modification. Turning Sigel into Hagalaz. It was a bit harder, but we figured that the rune of wrath, since it can mean within the subconscious, might awaken Harry's magic and throw it in a fight with the soul shard. We combined it with the Ritual of Magical harvesting on Samhain Morn, which pulls the magic of nature into the wizard. Sadly, this attempt _also_ failed because Harry was experiencing everything the soul shard was, so we had to stop. Possibly because the ritual normally requires a willing, active collaboration on the participatns' part. We _might_ be able to attempt it when he's older and stronger, but for now no dice."

Nothing more was said for a time, by anyone.

"You could have asked for help with research," Pollux said after a while.

"From who? You?" Regulus said with obvious skepticism. "I didn't bother, given your VIP OWL wards. Unless you're saying I could have just waltzed over to the door of the country manor and _hope_ the wards wouldn't incinerate me as soon as I was within their borders." Even if he could apparate there, the house magic could react badly.

It wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn't have been able to, but it did. That response forced a startled bout of laughter from Sirius, and a commiserating shake of the head from Arcturus. "You two are so much alike, you and your brother." The former head said.

"You don't say..." Regulus drawled, not really amused after everything he'd revealed. "The only good news in all this is that I, or rather Ted and I since it was his idea, at least managed to curb the worst of the Dursleys' abusive tendencies."

Sirius wasn't really in a mood to feel hope at the moment, but he looked up anyway. If nothing else, Regulus deserved his attention for everything he'd tried to do.

"Ted, why don't you come and explain?"

The man was no longer portly at all, Sirius noticed. No beer gut in sight. "If you say so," the wizard assented, dubiously. "You're the one who did the charms and runework, but whatever you say." He walked to stand on the other side of screen. "Now, the thing is that we noticed Harry is really powerful, so he has energy to spare, which is why his accidental magic is so strong and diverse. That's probably why he's feeding the soul shard. Now, the protection from his mother has so far prevented the growth of that shard, assuming it even _can_ grow. Anyway."

Regulus switched the image to a fairly elaborate arythmantic exercise in calculus. The rune Raidho was in the very center of the matrix. "So I figured why not reduce the scope of the ritual, but make it a permanent fixture? That way, the pressure on the blood protection would lessen, and we'd actually get a good thing out of that parasite."

Regulus took over. "Ted said I weaved the charm, which is true. But he's the one that did the nasty part."

"At night, again, we spelled everyone in the house to sleep and moved Harry to the attic. Then, uuh... I _may_ have peeled the skin on Harry's forehead off-"

Sirius blinked, wide-eyed.

"-and then cauterized the muscle and left an etching on the skull, a vertical line, that combined with the cursed scar made the Raidho rune. Then I healed the skin back into place, and no one was the wiser."

"So now that we had both Sigel and Raidho," Regulus took over again, zooming in on the arythmancy. "I could use the former's strengthening attributes and the latter's power transference attributes to anchor a spell to the dual-rune array, permanently, or at least until someone heals both the skull and the cauterized muscle beneath. And the charm I weaved was a Compulsion."

"You cast a compulsion charm on my godson?!" Sirius shot to his feet before he could reign in his temper. Thankfully, no lightning blasted anywhere.

Regulus gave Sirius a flat look. "Obviously not. Who do you think I am? Dumbledore?"

Sirius winced, but then his eyes widened. "Wait, did _Dumbledore_ ever cast such a thing on him?"

The younger brother titled his head. "Not to my knowledge." He shook his head. "But back to my point, unless Lord Black wants to accuse me of stealing children next?"

"Why didn't you?"

Everyone snapped their heads to look at Cassiopeia in confusion.

"Why didn't you? Steal him away I mean, after that mess when he turned five?"

"Ah!" Regulus acknowledged the question as valid. "I seriously considered it, but see, before we did all those rituals, we used a very intricate eastern process involving a pre-made array out of Kanji seals, which I managed to procure from a hermit. I'm working on learning the language, but it's going slow. Anyway, we used it to determine any and all effects on Harry. And besides the soul shard and the binding, I found a blood-based link to an enchanted item."

Sirius slumped back in his chair for the nth time that day. "Let me guess. It was an object of Dumbledore's?"

A tap of the keyboard slid the next photo. It looked like a standard silver cigarette lighter. "That looks familiar..." Sirius said, leaning forward. "That's right, it's what Dumbledore used to put out street lights sometimes. It's his Put-Outer."

"Put-Outer?" Cassie blurted. "What's with that man and weird names and colors..."

"Ah, so that's what it's called?" Regulus asked.

"Also deluminator," Sirius enlightened them.

"Deluminator then," Regulus nodded. "Only it seems our good headmaster uses it for more than putting out lights. Of course," he waved a hand and something flew to it from a bag across the room. "I had to reverse engineer it before I fully understood the runeworks. Very interesting stuff. Could definitely earn an extra credit on the rune NEWTS."

Openly gaping. Even Lord Black couldn't help it.

"Of course," the young wizard went on, ignoring the awestruck looks of everyone in the room. "There are loads of charms in it as well. I can't decide which is more impressive. The rune work that can be used to track any person whose blood is located in this central vial here." A flick of his finger made the deluminator partially dismantle. "Or the charms that can detect when the source of the blood or someone near them speaks a certain word of the caster's choice and notifies the owner of the deluminator, going so far as disgorging a white ball of light that enters their bodies and hands them over the apparition coordinates for where the blood's owner happens to be at that precise moment."

Utter silence filled Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

And not just the sitting room, but every single other nook and cranny on the property as well.

It was uneasy, tense, but also upbeat, in a small way.

Ted smiled and returned to his appointed chair.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Narcissa asked in a soft voice.

"Hmm?" Regulus turned to her.

"When you said you could have committed murder, you weren't kidding. You actually _could_ have done it. And you weren't talking of a confrontation either... But of getting to him when he was alone and presumably safe. In his rooms at Hogwarts at night while he slept..."

A scoff was heard. It was the first time Marius actually said anything. It figured that it would be in his "son's" defense. "Don't listen to what he says. He wouldn't have become a murderer regardless. If Tom Riddle didn't turn him into one, Dumbledore sure as hell won't manage it."

Regulus hummed noncomitally. Sirius wondered if he was covering his embarrassment.

"Besides, I didn't steal the deluminator," the Black Phantom shook his head. "Used Geminio on it. I only needed the duplicate to last for a while as I copied the runes and made a model of the parts. And I also used an arythmantic examination spell for the charms, and copied the calculus on a long roll of parchment, then went on my way before anyone knew I was there. It was a bit risky, apparating there based on a memory from my school years, but it worked. I just made sure I did it during a Wizengamot meeting, and with an invisibility cloak on. Of course, when I returned the second time to mess with his gadget, there were alarms wards on the floor. Fortunately, like the first time, I apparated while standing on my broom, afloat, and since I never did anything but wave my wand and float around, I never actually _touched_ anything either."

The narration concluded, and no one seemed to find any words, so the young one plowed on. "So, since I-" or tried.

"You're pulling our leg!" Pollux burst. "No one can apparate on Hogwarts grounds! There are wards to prevent it!"

"Like here?" Regulus asked. Sirius could barely distinguish the indulgent patience in the follow-up.

"Like here."

"Hmm." Regulus vanished. "You know grandfather-"

"Gah!" The old man scrambled away but stumbled over his own feet and crashed face-first.

"-you're absolutely right!" Regulus snapped his fingers, leaning against the back of the chair his relative had vacated. "There _are_ anti-apparition and disapparition wards here and at Hogwarts. Imagine that!"

His maternal grandfather failed to look dignified as he climbed to his feet. Not that he seemed to care, with how amazed he became. "How?" Honestly, Sirius was still quite impressed himself.

Regulus translocated back to his spot near the keyboard. "I can bypass any anti-transport wards. _All_ the wards." He smiled, and Sirius realized that the two of them really did look a lot alike sometimes. "_All_ _of them_."

"Good for you," 'aunt Cassie' said drily. "I suppose it's no use asking for tips?"

"That's up to Lord Black I think."

Sirius almost laughed. He felt so used.

"Why'd you bother going a second time though?" Cassie asked. She really did like to gossip, the crone.

And the smile became predatory. "Oh, I _may_ have replaced the blood vial in Dumbledore's deluminator with a vial of different blood. Also, the blood _may_ just belong to a rat that is currently languishing in the Number 4 Privet Drive attic under a long term stasis charm."

This time, Sirius did laugh.

At first, his brain just screeched to a halt. But then he snickered and then he descended into an uncontrollable episode of hysterical guffaws that went on for quite a while. He didn't think this was the reaction he should have had after everything he'd learned. Not even after five minutes of being bent over, holding his sides, did he have what it took to stop.

But like all things, it came to an end, eventually. Lord Black breathed heavily for a while, wiping the laughter tears away and finally, finally, relaxing fully.

"So," Regulus endeavored. "Any questions?"

"Just one," Arcturus asked, pensive. "What word was set to activate Albus' deluminator?"

"Hogwarts."

"Ah." So Albus wanted to keep Harry ignorant of the magical world. Sirius could only wonder why.

"Anyone else?"

No one seemed to have anything, too engrossed in their own theories and interpretations of... everything. But it came to Lord Black like a bludger to the face. "You never said what you compulsion charm did."

"Oh, right!" The young wizard tapped the keyboard and the projector went blank, leaving the vinyl screen white once more. "I made it so that whenever someone begins to show hostility to Harry, the compulsion charm will activate and suck however much magic it needs from the scar in order to compel the hostile parties to leave him be."

That feeling of love and gratitude he had for his brother earlier came back. "And it actually worked?"

"It did and does." Was the answer, though the young wizard didn't really hide his grimace. "Well, to an extent." Sirius rubbed his eyes. It figured that the other shoe would drop. "I fear I may have underestimated the loathing that the Dursleys, the males in particular, hold for Harry. While the compulsion does work on them, it commonly translates, in their minds, into putting the freak out of sight, which usually concludes with Harry shut in his cupboard, sometimes for days if they believe he deserved 'punishment.' Fortunately, he's learned not to speak of the strange happenings anymore, so he doesn't say anything about the sandwiches that mysteriously appear in his lap from time to time."

Sirius Orion Black sunk in his chair, which all of a sudden seemed too comfortable. Earlier in the day he was all about pranking himself and others, but now nothing seemed funny anymore. All he could think of was that he regretted not cursing those _freaks_ six days to Sunday during his visit there.

"-. .-"

Soon after, the meeting broke up. Regulus came over fairly fast and said he'd take Marius home. Sirius agreed it was a good idea, though he didn't quite expect the admirable great-uncle from being so averse to spending time in the presence of his brother and cousin, even if he _was_ disowned as a teenager. Then again, Pollux and Arcturus seemed equally averse to his existence, and Sirius just didn't have the mindset needed to deal with it just yet. He'd invite them back tomorrow and prepare further.

Parting with a request to meet Regulus in the study later, Sirius headed over to the DOM and surprised Croaker by returning the time turner. After some grumbling about brats that like to blackmail their elders with potential time paradoxes, and to pretend they're insufferable prats when they're really not, the Head Unspeakable's attitude shifted into a far more welcoming one.

Then evening came. Sirius was back at Grimmauld Place. And it was just him and Regulus there now, in the study. Standing. One looking at the ground, the other at the bookcase behind Sirius himself.

"Regulus."

The younger Black scion met his brother's eyes. Sirius wondered if his sibling really thought him so petty as to suddenly blame everything that happened to Harry on him for not taking him away when he could.

"Thank you." Sometimes, the simplest solutions were both right and easy. "For everything."

He laughed. His little brother laughed. It was a weak, relieved sound, like he'd gone out of practice while merely faking good humor for years. Sirius vowed to give him more reasons to laugh for real.

But not that night. "We're changing THE PLAN." That got his attention. "We'll focus on the _plan_ for now, since I need myself free and clear. And we'll leave _The_ Plan for the day after my exoneration."

Regulus clearly didn't understand. "But Sirius, that's two months from now. We have plenty of time for both-"

Which was when Sirius, Arcturus and Regulus suddenly appeared in the same room as them, only closer to the door. The former took off the time turner and hid it in his robes. All three men made sure to keep their backs completely turned on Sirius and Regulus, who were staring at Sirius, Arcturus and Regulus in surprise.

"Right, I should have made the trip with others by now as well," Sirius said as he opened the door for his two passengers. "I'll call Arcturus here," Lord Black smirked. He seemed even healthier than Sirius was at that precise moment. "I'll leave the task of explaining things to grandfather to... myself." Then he followed the other two out the door.

Sirius Orion Black and Regulus Arcturus Black watched, open-mouthed, as Sirius Orion Black, Regulus Arcturus Black and Arcturus Corvus Black left the study to wherever the hell they were going.

"Er..." Regulus rather eloquently broke the silence. "Did that just happen?"

"Right, so as I was saying, we'll leave _The_ Plan for the day after my exoneration, at which point I'll apparently come back in time with you and _gramps_ of all people for some reason." He paused. "Possibly because we're supposed to spend the months at the country manor while our current selves spend them here..."

"That was so weird..."

Sirius ignored his brain-dead sibling and figured he may as well monologue. Crazy people did that, he heard. "And from what... I... just said, I suppose next-me will eventually travel back in time _again_..."

"Well... That's interesting."

Sirius stared at his brother for a while, wondering if he should really be surprised by his tame reaction. Then he rolled his eyes and stalked off, remembering he was apparently going to have to explain to his grandfather why he'd just called him back to Grimmauld Place.

Lovely.

"Merlin, I need a drink."

Kreacher popped in with a huge bottle of firewiskey.

Silence. "Thanks Kreacher." Sirius felt like he could kiss that elf.


	14. Chapter 13: The Wolf and the Bear

**A/N: Just to make sure no one gets the wrong idea: I actually Like Remus Lupin, and intend to have him be an important figure in Harry's life later, and Sirius' for that matter. However, Regulus doesn't like him at the moment. That is all.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Wolf and the Bear  
**

"-. .-"

Explaining to Arcturus the future travel into the past which he would have to undergo had proven to be simpler than Sirius expected. Mostly because, as he and Regulus had had little chance to contemplate, the man had been in the room during his and Regulus' altercation. When his brother said he gave up control over his emotions because "things turned out in your favor two months from now."

The old man had been particularly smug about his deduction skills too. Not that he showed it. He was too well versed in "dignified" conduct for that. Sirius only detected it because it was just impossible for the old man to _not_ want to revel in each and every occasion he had of one-upping the new head of house, and making himself seem valuable, if not indispensible, in the process. For his considerable "talents."

In the end, that evening they -Sirius, Regulus and Arcturus- came up with a schedule for THE PLAN and its sub-prongs. During the first loop, the one they were already in, everyone, including Pollux and Cassiopeia (Merlin help them), would stay at Grimmauld Place. Then, when the second loop happened, Sirius, Regulus and Arcturus would spend the two months at the Country Manor in North-East Scotland. Arcturus tried not to look too sour when Sirius casually mentioned that _The_ Plan would involve Marius quite a bit.

Sirius still didn't know _who'd_ go back the third time. Just that, presumably, they (except for Sirius the Third) would work on _The_ Plan with the ones who went back the _second_ time.

Of course, the atmosphere was even more tense the next day, in the parlor when everyone present the previous day, minus Narcissa, were called in again. It was tense because of the Tonks' and Marius' presence at that discussion. The former house head didn't outright say it, but he clearly felt that they would be better off if his disowned, magic-less "former" cousin wasn't involved. Marius, for his part, seemed to have no trouble ignoring Arcturus, and Pollux for that matter.

Well, that wasn't quite true. While the first few stages of their talk went by more or less fine, things got a bit difficult when they started to put together the _plan_. Primarily because Arcturus, and sometimes Pollux, kept challenging every suggestion Marius made, until Regulus shut them up by blandly asking them how, exactly, they could claim to know better how to navigate the perilous waters of the wizarding legal not-system. After all, they stayed isolated in their manor for the past one and a half decade, while Marius had spent much of the last seven years learning everything about the so-called laws and preparing for when the time came for the so-called hearing.

And he also happened to be the only one with an actual education in legal matters, and decades of experience in that domain.

Sirius happened to be looking in the old man's direction during Regulus' sarcastic spiel, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Marius was completely open. There was a lopsided grin on his face, and the older man looked both amused and proud of Regulus' boldness. That _he_ was the one benefiting from that boldness was secondary. It was refreshing to have at least _one_ relative, besides Regulus, who didn't fear being upfront and honest all the time.

It was a big contrast to the narrowed-eyed mistrust Marius projected each and every time Arcturus or Pollux, or even Cassiopeia, offered, suggested or implied something. Sirius admitted to himself that the old codgers seemed really willing to assist with everything. A bit too willing (and eager to suggest using as much blackmail as possible). Had he not been the head of house, he would have felt a bit more concerned about the possibility of them wanting to undermine him in some way. As it was, though, it was in their best interest to be helpful, because they knew that the odds that House Black would climb back to its previous high status were tied to _him_ and everything that came after July 30.

And that was the core of it, wasn't it? If everything went smoothly, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, would become a ward of House Black. Sirius didn't fool himself with hopes that the older members of the House would willingly discount the chance to use that to bolster the prestige of the House. It made him narrow his eyes, though no one could guess the real reason behind his mood. After all, the tension between Marius, his brother, his sister and his cousin had risen again. The three Blacks had given up on trying to make subtle jabs and instead interrupted the "squib" at every turn.

Marius had somehow managed to summarize the case he and Regulus had built, in spite of the old members' thinly veiled disdain. Then he started to go over evidence, or lack thereof. So the other three old men/woman cut in at every possible turn, interrupting his train of thought with their own suggestions. Some really were intriguing, like Cassie's revelation that she did, in fact, have The Black Book of Blackmail, which had dirt on _everyone_. But it didn't make their conduct any less rude, especially since they weren't putting all that much effort into masking their goal.

If they expected an explosion though, they would have to live with the disappointment. "Right," Marius sighed, gathering his papers and standing. "This isn't working. Far be it from me to stand in anyone's way." He looked at Sirius. "I'll leave you to your deliberations. If you think I might be of some use after you finish here, I'll be around."

Lord Black responded with a graceful nod, and noted that Arcturus, Pollux and Cassiopeia completely failed to see that instead of conceding defeat and deciding that he should stay out of it, Marius was simply being the better man and removing himself from that, frankly, _childish_ routine.

Sirius considered the benefits of giving them a verbal smackdown right there, in front of Lucretia, Regulus, Ted and Andromeda, but doubted it would help much. Compared to say, doing it in front of all the members of House Black that he hadn't, yet, summoned. And he also wanted to see how long the four would last before someone exploded. Sometimes a confrontation cleared the air better than a mediator.

Besides, he could make his point by completely changing the subject for a while, thus cutting the wind from their sails. So he turned to his Aunt Lucretia. "Aunt, how is your husband these days?" Sirius didn't know Ignatius Prewett well, but maybe that ought to change if the Family Magic itself summoned his aunt to witness the judgment.

"He is well, Lord Black." Fortunately, she didn't read anything ill in his question.

"Do you think he would be willing to assist us? He would only need to be slightly more vocal in his opinions of a 'dark' House such as ours. Misdirection is, after all, what we are aiming for." As part of the _plan_, the world would be made to think the hearing was meant only to fill the gaps in the procedure and find out whatever possible about the Black Phantom (and what a _shock_ it had been for everyone to learn _who_ said Phantom was). If everyone expected Black to be easily pronounced guilty, there would be no corrupt ministry people to mess with their maneuvers while trying to cover up their incompetence or conspiracy (if there was one).

"I will speak with him," she paused. "Although given that _I_ am a Black, he can't really speak ill against this house much and have everyone believe him. So it might not help. Might I make a suggestion?"

"Please."

"Gideon and Fabian, my nephews. They knew you, didn't they? I'd be willing to act as go-between and get them to come by. I imagine they'll be possible to convince as long as I don't tell them _who_ Lord Black is. They have no business with the Ministry and Wizengamot, but they _are_ famous quidditch players and have the ear of the press."

Arcturus sniffed. "And why would they help us? And if they do agree, by some miracle, how could be make sure they won't blab? Besides, them helping us could cause tensions between them and their own close kin."

"I hear Molly has quite the pair of lungs," Cassiopeia noted.

Lucretia gave them a rather annoyed look. "I know you three have been holed up in your house for the past fifteen years, so I understand that you may have forgotten some of the common courtesies, like not interrupting people." Sirius wryly wondered how long the woman wished she could actually talk back to them without fear of incurring the ire of the Head of House. She also seemed to be annoyed on Marius' behalf. "There is an easy answer to those concerns."

"And that is?" Sirius asked, if only to curb the impending retorts.

His aunt turned to Regulus, who'd silently sat in his chair, next to Sirius, during the whole meeting. "I understand the Black Phantom saved their lives during the last war?"

Understanding dawned on everyone. "You want to play the life debt angle." The youngest Black spoke. "It would be enough to convince them to help, and coerce them into keeping silent. And if the Prewetts and Weasleys find out of their role in this fiasco, Gideon and Fabian will be able to, in turn, play the life debt angle, saying they had little choice."

"More than that," Sirius brought his hands together in front of his face, fingertips pressing against one another. "They can get off with little else than a slap on the wrist if, say, they were to 'accidentally' mention certain things that Dumbledore wouldn't want the world to know. Like, say, that they, and I, were part of a secret organization during the war, led by Dumbledore behind the ministry's back."

Arcturus didn't seem impressed. "You do realize that will only make him seem like even more of a hero?"

"For a few days or weeks maybe," Sirius smirked. "But then the world would see the really questionable things, and I do mean _see_ them. And the extra reputation would only make the fall harder. What else did Dumbledore do behind everyone's backs, besides dumping the boy-who-lived on a porch in November? _Why_ did he safeguard a marked Death Eater but _conveniently_ didn't do anything to make sure I, the Heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House -and ward of a second one, _the one I supposedly betrayed-_ got proper procedure? It should be enough to overwhelm him with enough bad press, irate acquaintances and howlers that he won't have any time to interfere with my custody plans after my acquittal. Which is really all I'm hoping for at this stage."

"But that's going into _The_ Plan, not the _plan_," Regulus waved, straight-faced. "Since we have Marius covering the legal angle, we just need to make the Ministry, the Wizengamot and the rest of Wizarding Britain believe what we need them to believe, to maximize the shocks of the revelations that will take place on July 30. Preferably without ever actually _lying_. Amelia and the Minister have already set the tone, by acting like _they_ are the ones who found what a big 'chance' to unmask me they lost by not giving Sirius a trial."

Sirius was glad Narcissa wasn't here, because part of the _plan_ was manipulating Lucius into going behind their backs and getting the Wizengamot to decree that Veritaserum be used. It would be easy enough though, knowing that Bagnold was misinforming everyone by letting the spying charms in her office be. He'd just have Marius subtly or not so subtly convince everyone he could that they _shouldn't_ use Veritaserum, maybe have him say so while talking to Bagnold in her office, and Lucius would dig his hole the rest of the way himself.

"You should reach out to the others," Lucretia eventually said. "Cedrella is married to Septimus Weasley, if you recall, and he has a few close allies in the Wizengamot, not to mention his own seat. And if you can somehow get Callidora and Harfang Longbottom to talk to Augusta, you'd essentially have half the Wizengamot dancing to your tune, and Dumbledore wouldn't even know about it. Although I do not know _how_ you would get the Dowager to help you."

After a moment of silence, Regulus spoke up. "I can do a better job with Augusta, I think."

"Let me guess," Arcturus asked wryly. "Ask me no question and I'll tell you no lies?"

The young wizard shrugged.

Sirius suspected he'd drop a package with the memory of November 1. And maybe some of Harry, including what Dumbledore did that night. Alice was Harry's godmother after all, so Augusta would take his treatment personally. Especially knowing that Dumbledore had stationed Arabella Figg on the same street, to keep an eye on him, which meant he damn well _knew_ everything that was going on. Sirius had nearly had an apoplectic fit when Regulus told him the woman went out of her way to make Harry's stays at her unpleasant, to make sure the Dursleys wouldn't send him anywhere else.

She _knew_. Dumbledore _knew_. The Blood Wards may as well not be there at all. Sirius shied away from thinking that the old man _intended_ for Harry to have a horrible childhood, even though, shockingly enough, both Arcturus and Marius agreed on that.

Then again, using the Blood Wards as an excuse was almost as bad.

But then there was that little thought, niggling at the back of his head like a worm. That Dumbledore must know of the scar's nature, or some of it. And that _neither can live while the other survives_. And that _either must die at the hands of the other_.

And that Dumbledore had let people die before.

After all, he'd deliberately put off going after Grinderwald for _decades_, letting people die and die at his hands and those of his followers, merely because he was... _scared_ that Grinderwald would know who, exactly, it had been that killed his sister Arianna in that 3-way duel involving them and Aberforth. And he didn't want to face up to the possibility that it had been him.

Nevermind that he'd have had half or a third of the blame anyway. Nevermind that the time he spent avoiding assuming his role in the war was spent by his old _lover_ (and wasn't that a strange thought?) decimating the magical world, killing anyone who stood against him, including (and Sirius _tried_ to be logical and not lay all the blame at his feet, but Azkaban hadn't helped his ability to set aside bias at all) all of the Potter clan except the main line. _All_ of James cousins and uncles and aunts. In a way it had been a blessing that James had been born so late. It spared him the loss of so many.

Charlus hadn't been so lucky.

That information had come from Cassiopeia Black's Black Book of Blackmail. She, in turn, had gotten it from Bathilda Bagshot, and through meticulous record analysis and conjecture based on other gossip and documents she'd uncovered.

Sirius could understand why Regulus called Dumbledore the king of guilty consciences now. If it _was _true and the old man was raising Harry to die as a martyr... Like one would raise a lamb or _pig _for slaughter... It would make sense to ensure his life was harsh, so that he would fall in love with the Wizarding World, and feel at home only in _Hogwarts_, and a debt of gratitude to Dumbledore, his _rescuer_... And eventually be more than willing to give his life for it. Should Harry be raised in a loving home, he'd have less of an inclination to do that, especially if he came to see how corrupt, _bigoted_ the society really was. How _unworthy_ of saving, much less dying for, it was.

Sirius felt sick at the thought, and dearly hoped this theory Arcturus had put forward wasn't what was really happening. But then he'd hoped Peter was faithful. He'd _hoped_, for seven long years, that someone would come and hear his side of the story, and it never happened.

And he'd _hoped_ that the end of Voldemort would end things, but while some tentative peace _had_ been established, many of the madman's followers got off with the Imperius excuse, and proceeded to advance Voldemort's agenda, during his seven years of imprisonment, farther that it had come during the entire Blood War. What the _hell_ was the great Chief Warlock Dumbledore _doing_ while racist laws were being passed?

And where did he get off vouching for Snape, and setting him loose upon the children of Hogwarts (was that man _insane?_). He admitted that his hatred of Snape was exacerbating his reaction, but how the hell did that man, who caused James and Lily's deaths (nevermind that he presumably turned sides, and _only_ after realizing who he'd placed in danger -and would he have stayed on Voldemort's if it was some random baby in danger?-) get off scot-free _without a trial_ while he, Sirius Black, got sent to _Azkaban_ without one, while innocent of _everything_ they said he'd done.

It boggled the mind! Where was _his_ second chance? Never mind that he didn't need it, because he hadn't yet wasted the first one!

"Sirius," Regulus's stinging hex made him rub his shoulder. The Head of House Black only _narrowly_ avoided looking sheepish because of the way he zoned out while going on an internal rant. He really had to do something about this lingering effect of Azkaban prison.

"Apologies. I was... examining a theory. Please repeat." He told the room at large. Because he didn't know who had been talking and what they'd been talking about.

"I said," Lucretia told him. "That I'd be willing to forewarn people that Lord Black would call them, and try to reassure them that nothing _bad_ would happen if they came over when you, I am assuming, will use the tapestry to make the summons?"

"Ah," Sirius nodded. Inbreeding was bad, but sometimes it really paid off to be related to everyone. "That would be appreciated."

"-. .-"

Amelia Bones and Millicent Bagnold had only just gotten the ball rolling, and no one outside them and House Black knew Sirius was no longer in Azkaban (the move had happened just the previous day after all, in complete secrecy). This provided an opportunity.

Regulus Black decided that it wouldn't serve to waste any time, so he sent a message to Augusta Longbottom by post owl, requesting a private meeting at the Leaky Cauldron, cheekily asking if she _really_ wanted to wait until a similar message reached her through her cousin Harfang Longbottom instead. The topic would be skullduggery being or about to be committed by the minister and Amelia Bones, and which had to do with the organization Frank Longbottom and his wife were part of during the war. It was signed _The Black Phantom_.

The young wizard didn't ask for a reply. He gave her the time (later that day) and said he'd be there for half an hour, before the offer was rescinded. He hoped the woman would come thanks to the fame, or infamy, he accumulated even in the years _after_ the war, for his habit of apprehending dark wizards that Aurors couldn't get to because of red tape. He also hoped the public setting would dispel any concerns that this may be a set-up for Merlin knew what.

So, at half past 13:00 hours, he was sitting on a bar stool, drinking a butterbeer, and polyjuiced to look like a random, sandy-haired man with brown eyes and overall plain features. He'd taken the potion 45 minutes earlier. His over-robes were simple, crest-less, colored brown. Or they _looked_ that way. It was actually his black coat transfigured to look less recognizable.

Augusta Longbottom came out of the floo right on time, wearing her best don't-mess-with-me countenance, and her beloved stuffed vulture hat. Her dark grey robes bore the crest of House Longbottom on the right side of the chest. Regulus admitted he was surprised at her bravery. She _must_ have considered the possibility of this being a setup to do her harm.

She ignored whoever might have been looking at her and purposefully strode to the bar, imperiously informing Tom that she was here to use a private meeting room. The old, bald bartender genially led her to one.

Regulus was _very_ surprised by this. The woman was either very self-assured or had some sort of insurance of her own. He waited for five more minutes before finishing his drink and leaving the bar. Once out of sight, he dropped the transfiguration on his clothes, made himself invisible, and walked back in, then past the main hall and into the corridor leading to the appropriate room. Once there, he felt an anti-apparition charm and an alarm on the door. So he cast a human presence revealing charm and, once he knew where Augusta was, he soundlessly apparated to the ceiling right behind her, since he still hadn't figured out how to prevent disillusionment and invisibility from being dispelled by apparition (if it was even possible).

Satisfied that he hadn't been detected (although Augusta did have her wand in her hand, albeit beneath her purse), Regulus sent a nonverbal cushioning charm to the floor behind her chair, right below him. Then he made himself invisible again and let himself flip and fall. Featherweight and sticking charms came instinctively to him now.

Once he was finally on the floor, he gingerly made his way to the chair right across the Longbottom House Regent and sat down, permitting the transparency to fade

Regulus Arcturus Black felt a measure of smug satisfaction when the formidable and severe-looking witch jumped in her seat. Even _she_ couldn't help it when he melted into view right in front of her. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me." His hood was drawn and his face and voice obscured.

"Don't thank me yet," the ancient-looking witch retorted. "I haven't yet decided if it was a mistake. Tell me, what did you mean when you mentioned Harfang?"

"Nothing untoward, I assure you." He was _certain_ he didn't include an implied threat, but some people were just really paranoid it seemed.

"And what's this about skullduggery? I cannot speak for the minister but I know Amelia and you'll have your work cut out for you if you think you can accuse her of anything in front of me without proof."

"I admit to a measure of misdirection," Regulus answered. "I do not, in fact, intend to speak ill of Amelia Bones, or the Minister for that matter. However, what I wish to share requires context." Slowly, he retrieved a small piece of cardboard from a pouch on his belt, which he then tapped with the back of his finger. It enlarged into a large and somewhat thick file folder. "Before this, though, may I ask why you did not just get a table in the main parlor? Such a private setting could have ended badly, as we've just seen. What if I was an assassin?"

The witch regarded him for a long moment. "My son Frank had a very high opinion of you. After your 'kidnapping' of the Potters was exposed for what it really was, he came to believe you were one of the best things that happened to Wizarding Britain during the whole war. Even now, I value his judgment, and regret that I seldom told him so before he was put into St. Mungo's by that viper Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Ah." Well, that was a surprise. With the added consequence of opening that damnable old wound. He tried not to think about it most of the time, but it was times like these when Regulus remembered that he _did_ have alarms on Longbottom Manor and the personal things of Frank and Alice at the time of the attack on them. Alarms which would have reached him and which he would have responded to if he hadn't been out of the country at the time, on a single-minded quest that he ended up failing anyway.

And now he learned that Frank Longbottom, four years his senior, had admired him.

He shoved the thoughts aside. Not easily, but he managed. "But the note could very well have been sent by someone else only _claiming_ to be me. Wasn't forcing a private meeting dangerous?"

The Dowager Longbottom smirked. It was an odd sight on her. "I checked the room for invisible presences before I warded the door and cast an anti-apparition charm, as you no doubt noticed." She rung the bell on the table. Tom would come knocking soon. "Now, I suppose it _is_ possible that you're a seer and 'saw' the private booth I would come to, and also have a way to fool the human presence revealing charm. However, my son Frank happened to be a very accomplished Auror in his day, and he saw you in action a few times. He theorized that you were not actually an animagus, and that your way of turning into crows was just a cover-up for the fact that you could bypass anti-apparition wards." She regally set her purse on the table. "I must admit to some satisfaction at being the one to confirm your secret."

"Ah." Well, that was surprising. Using occlumency to detach himself from the emotional response of that revelation, he managed to prevent his heart from starting to race too fast. He'd have to ask Sirius later if Frank ever shared his theories with the Order at large. "I suppose this is where I ask what you want in exchange for keeping that information to yourself."

"Nonsense, young man." She waved him off. "You think I lack enough sense to go telling everyone that there is a wizard that can get into their homes undetected and without any trouble? Do you have any idea what kind of panic that would cause? Remember that everyone knows you have a dark mark after the stunt you pulled when you 'kidnapped' the Potters. Normal people would be scared because of that alone, and the death eaters that bribed their way out of Azkaban would be scared you'd murder them in their sleep and try to start a manhunt for you. Not that I think anything would come of it."

A knock directed their attention. Augusta glanced at the door, but before she could say anything Tom had already pried it open. "What can I get for you, ma'am?"

When Augusta turned her eyes back to Regulus, she restricted her reaction to find him gone, or rather invisible, to just a widening of her eyes. She recovered immediately and ordered a light lunch before sending Tom on his way. Once the landlord was gone, Regulus faded into view again. "I commend your ability to act, madame."

"Then I commend your reaction time," she gracefully returned. "Now, perhaps you can share with me why you called me out?"

"Had your daughter-in-law been available, I would have approached her instead." He slid the folder over to her, and waited as she looked through the files and pictures of Harry Potter. A few of the nastier reports were included. Needless to say, Augusta Longbottom's expression became stormier with each sheet of paper she examined.

"You know, muggles have a very dim view of child abusers," Regulus said blandly. "Unfortunately, the Statute of Secrecy and auxiliary mandates state they are not allowed to knowingly interfere in the affairs of Wizards, and that includes willful endangerment of infants, in this case _condoned_ abuse and slave labor. And before you ask, Dumbledore knows and passively endorses this. He has Arabella Figg living on the same street actually, and she is deliberately making her babysitting sessions unpleasant."

Augusta seemed frozen at some point between stupefaction and outraged indignation.

Regulus felt the polyjuice potion expiring. Good. "Now, I already know that Dumbledore blocked the Potter wills and that, by the time your son and daughter-in-law would have gotten their case together and went on the warpath because of what was technically a kidnapping, they were already neutralized. What I want to know is, do you know who the godfather is?"

Augusta dropped the folder like it was something vile. She took a deep breath and met his eyes, grim-faced. "I had the misfortune of personally knowing the man. You know him as well. You're the one that, apparently, recognized him for the traitor he was before anyone else did."

This was new. "I am sorry but I do not follow."

"Sirius Black," the witch answered, a bit more forcefully than she must have intended. "Come now, _you_ are the one that separated him from the Potters when you 'kidnapped' them and obliviated the memory of the encounter from him. I never understood why James never took my or Frank's warnings about him after they showed up again, one year later."

Regulus' blood chilled. Had that really contributed to the impression that Sirius must have been guilty when everything went to hell? He mentally shook that thought off. Sirius had made that suggestion himself. Hell, he wasn't even _there_ for whatever plan they cooked up at the time.

"I fear you drew the wrong conclusions," Regulus said slowly, occluding his emotions behind a level tone. "I never obliviated him. It was all a ploy, for whose planning I wasn't even present. Sirius knew precisely where James and Lily Potter were during that whole year."

Augusta stared at him, speechless, for some time. Eventually, she found her voice again. "But... but then _why_ would he wait so long to betray them?"

"Which brings us to the crux of the matter. He didn't." Regulus ignored her shocked reaction and flicked his right wrist in full view of the woman, drawing his wand out of its holster. Then he tapped his temple with it and slowly drew a long, silver-white thread and placed it in a small vial he'd retrieved from another one of his many pouches. It was the memory of his hunt for Rookwood, from the moment he appeared at the intersection to just after he found Pettigrew's head. "I don't know which is more disgusting. That it took seven years for someone of integrity to rise in the DMLE and provide me with an opportunity to see justice done; or that I have to use the suffering of a baby as leverage to get people to listen."

He wandlessly levitated it to Augusta, who took them from the air with an air of foreboding. "I assume you own a pensieve?"

The Dowager Longbottom nodded absently, staring grimly at the memory copy.

After a moment's deliberation, Regulus also drew a copy of his memory of Dumbledore dumping Harry on the porch. "This will help you understand why all the secrecy is necessary. Amelia Bones and Minister Bagnold are working with Lord Black to correct a great injustice. Well, _two _great injustices. I ask only that you handle those memories with discretion. They are sensitive and damning. I would prefer it if you could destroy them after you view them, but I won't demand a vow. I hand them over to you as a show of trust."

Before the woman could say anything else, Regulus stood and disapparated, even though it was rude to just pop out on her, and _after_ she'd ordered food (which she probably lost the appetite and interest for). He hoped he wasn't putting too much faith in Sirius' knowledge of the future.

"-. .-"

The good thing about having MI6 at your beck and call was that you could get traces on _everyone_ living in the Muggle world, or at least working there. So, naturally, Regulus knew where Remus Lupin was. He'd kept up with his itinerary for years actually, but never visited him because, as far as he could see, the man was as convinced of Sirius' guilt as everyone else. Nevermind the many red flags that whole mess should have raised in his mind. Nevermind that they were supposedly very close friends. Sure, they'd been friends with Pettigrew too, but was that an excuse for what happened?

Viciously, Regulus wondered what the odds were of Lupin witnessing Dumbledore being totally certain Sirius was the traitor, and choosing to believe the same thing solely because of that.

With everything going on, Sirius hadn't gotten around to elaborating on Lupin's role in THE PLAN. He'd only asked, in passing, if he knew where he was, to which Regulus answered that he was out of the country but he didn't know exactly where. No doubt Sirius was going to try and owl him personally first.

Regulus hadn't _lied_ exactly. He couldn't remember the exact address at the time.

That he had it written down in the shrunken notebook in his belt... well, that was something he neglected to mention.

The fact was that Lupin lived in a small suburb in the United States of America, working as a librarian. A suburb where Regulus easily arrived the afternoon of the day after his meeting with Augusta Longbottom. Illegal, untrackable portkeys were his game.

His day hadn't gone very well, mostly because there was still a lot of tension in Grimmauld Place, between his _dear_ grandfathers Arcturus and Pollux, plus Cassiopeia, and the other side made of Ted, Andromeda and Marius. At least it was only obvious at mealtimes. The rest of the time, everyone did their own thing. Though Regulus knew it couldn't last long. Sirius and he couldn't just play mediators and couriers forever.

Sirius was going to do the ritual to include Adromeda and Ted in the House of Black today. Marius would wait until after the hearing, since he needed to still be 'disowned' in order to any complaints about family representation to be debunked easily. So Regulus decided he had some time to make a point. He also admitted to himself, ruefully, that he was probably going to vent a bit too.

What would Raphael say to him if he was there to see him, he wondered.

The wards on Lupin's flat were very simple. An anti-apparition and magical locks on the doors. Consistent with the notion that the werewolf didn't stay in one place for long. Besides, it wasn't like he could afford to cast too much magic with all the electronics in the building.

So when Lupin finally came home, that evening, after a double shift (no doubt making up for the time skipped during the full moon), Regulus waited, invisible, on his plain, straight-back chair at the kitchen table for the man to position himself. An Immobulus at the entire air in the room made sure his scent didn't spread.

Lupin tiredly shuffled over to the coffee maker and threw down a whole cup, before filling another and falling in the other chair.

Regulus Black didn't do anything right away. He studied the man's old, worn-down clothes, the scars on his face (relics of the repeated transformations, no doubt) and the overall disheveled appearance. Clearly the man wasn't doing very well. Of course, Lupin had also shown a spectacular lapse in awareness by not even casting a Homenum Revelio as soon as he was in the house.

Sure, he wasn't an Auror, but he _had_ lived through a war of sorts. Besides, Regulus had never been an Auror either, but even _he_ made sure to always cast a revealing charm whenever he got home.

Finally, Lupin finished his coffee and made for the sink, to rinse it no doubt.

Only to fail to get up from the chair. Startled, he tried again. It was amazing how fast his expression turned from confusion to alarm. The third time made it clear that the four feet of the chair were _also_ affixed to the floor with sticking charms.

And when the werewolf hastened to pull out his wand from the chest pocket of his jacket, Regulus sent a nonverbal _Expelliarmus_ underneath the table.

The wand was wrenched from Lupin's grasp and flew over the space between them. Regulus allowed his invisibility to melt away the moment he caught it. "Remus Lupin, class of Hogwarts 1978." Somehow, the wide-eyed apprehension on the light brown-haired man wasn't satisfying. "Born on March 10, 1960. Infected with lycanthropy at age six. Sire: Fenrir Greyback. Attended Hogwarts and became close friends with James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." A flash of... something unpleasant passed over the man at the last name. "Or, well, _presumed_ close friend."

"What do you want?"

Props for keeping his cool at least. "Well, what do you think I want?"

A scoff. "As if anyone ever knew for sure. But whatever, I'll bite." Blue eyes narrowed as the man sat back in his chair, sliding his hands off the table. Just to be on the safe side, Regulus unobtrusively sent sticking charms to the legs of the table too. He wouldn't want to have it tipped and shoved in his face after all. "Since you snuck into my apartment undetected and made sure to immobilize me before showing yourself, I suppose you're here to tell me something I don't like before leaving, or to tell me something I don't like, gloat a bit and then kill me."

"Close." Regulus admitted, twirling Lupin's wand on his fingertips. "In all honesty, I'm not really here to tell you anything, although I'm sure I'll end up doing it anyway."

Silence.

"Well?" Lupin demanded, mistrust clear. "Why _are_ you here for then?"

"To get a good look at you." Regulus rested his chin on his palm, elbow propped on the table. "I just want to see why my brother still cares about and misses you so much, despite how completely you turned your back on and discarded him as soon as someone spoke ill of him."

"What brother? Who are you talking about?" Merlin, the man really couldn't guess.

Regulus ignored him. "But then, I'm not so shocked. I mean, you just as easily turned away and forgot about your _other_ friend's son as soon as the parents died. And now..." He shook his head.

Silence.

It was deep and thick. Lupin's brain floundered, but then realization began to dawn in his eyes, though there was still a shred of disbelief left.

So Regulus Arcturus Black leaned back in his chair and pulled his hood down. "Hello, Remus Lupin. Long time no see."

The werewolf blanched in shock, before he panicked and did exactly what Regulus accurately guessed was his only remaining course of action. He grabbed the edge of the table and heaved it upwards, aiming to smash it straight into him. Or _tried_.

How _Gryffindor_ of him.

It was a testament to his werewolf strength that he actually managed to get two of the four feet off the ground, but his effort was already broken by that point. Regulus' petrificus caught him immediately, though he left him mobile from the neck up.

The table settled back on the floor with a loud clatter. Almost as soon as it happened, the landlord below began pounding the end of his broom against the ceiling, yelling for the racket to stop.

Regulus weaved a privacy bubble only because he wanted to savor the now pale-faced tenant's reaction in peace. "I can see now why you so easily turned on my brother back in 1981."

"Don't speak to me of that-"

_Silencio._ The sound immediately cut off. "Don't you _dare_..." he whispered menacingly. "Don't you _dare_ speak ill of him, you hypocrite."

Regulus Black found himself at an impasse. He really hadn't come here to do anything but look at him, but he was always prepared, which meant he still had some duplicates of that damning folder. So as he stared down the werewolf as he almost shook in impotent rage, he kept arguing in his head, back and forth, about what he should do.

"Sirius isn't in Azkaban anymore." Lupin paled even further. "Of course, if you'd been an actual friend to him, he'd never have gone there in the first place. But then I guess when it came to believing the worst of someone, it was easier to think Pettigrew was the _good_ one instead of, oh, the _Black_. Really, did you miraculously forget that Lord Charlus had adopted him into House Potter?"

The murderous glare Lupin was wearing thawed and began to be replaced by denial and confusion.

"Or wait. Maybe you were jealous of Sirius for being closer to James Potter? So it felt somehow vindicating when he betrayed him, because it made it clear you'd been _right_ that you'd have deserved the spot of best friend and brother more?" Regulus didn't really believe that. It was just something that popped into his head just then. But he wasn't aiming to be nice here. "I don't really want to believe that, but it would be just a little bit less pathetic that way. Rather than, say, seeing the great and mighty Albus Dumbledore totally convinced of Sirius' guilt and you believing the same because Dumbledore is always right."

Lupin worked his jaw a few times, but he'd given up on actually saying anything. The silencing charm was still on after all.

"You know what the worst part is?" Regulus asked with grim amusement. "Dumbledore actually thinks he'd doing everything for the sake of good. He actually _believes_ he's a _good_ person. And lots of people believe it too, just because he beat Grinderwald. Nevermind that he was partly responsible for the Greater Good ideology he used. Nevermind that the only reason Dumbledore didn't join his lover -yes, _lover-_ in his quest for ascension was because a three-way duel between the two of them and Albus' brother ended up killing his sister, Ariana."

Something flickered over Lupin's face, but Regulus didn't really want to interpret it.

"Not because of obligation or grief, no. It was because he was a coward. He was so afraid Grinderwald knew whose curse had killed her, that he would tell Albus _he'd_ done it, that he delayed going after him for years and years, allowing him to keep on murdering everyone he wanted, including all of the Potter clan except the main line." Regulus knew he'd wonder how good an idea it was to skim through the Black Book of Blackmail, but he didn't regret it at the moment.

"But you know what really gets to me?" Regulus asked, smiling cruelly. "That Dumbledore keeps preaching about second chances, but a so-called second chance didn't even cross his mind when it came to my brother. Despite the fact that he wouldn't have needed it, innocent of everything as he was." Lupin blinked, denial clear. "And on the other hand, he ends up vouching for Snape and getting him off without any sort of trial or investigation, despite it having been _him_ that told Voldemort of the prophecy." Lupin blanched at the news. Good. "He only turned because it ended up putting Lily in danger. He didn't care as long as it was some other random kid and set of parents. I still wonder if maybe he didn't just play double-agent because he wanted to have his neck covered in case the tables turned. I honestly hope he was honest about wanting to save Lily Potter, because if it was any other reason it means he only used her being in danger as a means to persuade Dumbledore he was being honest. _Used_ her."

Regulus knew full well he was biased, but he remembered Snape from his time with death eaters. He wasn't the worst kind, but he wasn't the best either. Besides, he knew plenty of people who didn't turn into that wretched sort despite having the same sob story as his. The marauders may have humiliated him repeatedly in school, but he'd put them in the hospital wing many times even though they'd avoided outright _bodily_ harming him in any permanent fashion. Sirius was the only one who actually responded in kind. It was astounding that Snape hated _James_ more, because the latter saved his life, thus getting him saddled with a life debt. That man's mind worked in mysterious ways.

And sure, the marauders had started the feud but they were _children_, and later teenagers. And _Snape_ was the one who threw the first insult when he told James he'd be brawny and not brainy if he got into Gryffindor.

Sirius had admitted to him that he wasn't proud of the bullying phase, but he also refused to assume all the blame. He'd shown him the memory, when he, James and Snape actually met on the Hogwarts express. "Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?" Sirius asked James. "'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad... Got a problem with that?" And Snape just _had_ to say "No. If you'd rather be brawny than brainy..." Thus insulting not only James, but his father and, by association, his whole family.

Honestly, they were all _children_. What did Snape_ expect_ after basically calling James and his family idiots?

And again, Dumbledore helped the problems get worse. He passively condoned all that behavior -boys will be boys- and Regulus also wondered how he could turn a blind eye to junior death eater activities. He'd been there for many of them, unfortunately.

"Now" Regulus said steadily. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. Just nod or shake your head as needed."

Lupin sent his most vicious glare, but the doubt was there at last.

"Is Harry James Potter the son of James and Lily Potter?"

Mutinously, Lupin nodded once. Stiffly.

"Did you consider either of the parents stupid?"

Lupin almost looked indignant as he shook his head.

"Then you can't exactly ascribe to stupidity their decision to make Sirius Harry's godfather."

A reluctant no.

"So... that means that, since you are so _certain _my brother turned on them, Sirius was _really_ clever and faked his loyalty since he was 11 years old and somehow fooled the sorting hat into putting him into Gryffindor despite that having Slytherin written all over it. Or wait, maybe Sirius switched sides later, _after_ he ran away because mother imperiused him to go on muggle hunts with death eaters." Lupin's eyes went wide. "After all, she _only_ followed that up_,_ when he broke the Imperius, with a memory charm and the already normal routine, which involved cruciatus curses as disciplinary measures."

Lupin's face was a mask of horror.

"Of course, that's no big deal. I mean, the cruciatuses couldn't have been so bad. After all, the memory charm only broke half a year after it was placed. It only took four out of six consecutive torture curses to break it. Nothing to complain about. Sirius _hardly_ had anything stopping him from turning on the Potters. Really!" Regulus knew he was overstepping his bounds. These weren't his secrets to tell, but Lupin deserved to know. Deserved to know _precisely_ what a massive mistake he'd made. If he and his brother made up, all the better. If not, then Lupin knowing about it wouldn't result in awkwardness because there would _be_ no contact between them.

But he wasn't done yet. "So, let's go on with the interrogation. Do you know what happened with Harry after Halloween?"

Lupin nodded.

"Ah!" Regulus tilted his head. "So you _know_ that Dumbledore kept him in that destroyed house for a whole day, never moving his parent's corpses, because he was too busy casting blood wards on him. So busy that he only cast a spell to make sure the scar on his forehead was dark enough to fit the idea of Voldemort's mark he'd created in his mind. No medical scan of any kind. No healer was brought in." No reaction. "You must _know_ that Dumbledore then went on his merry way to spread the 'good ' news and sent _Hagrid_ of all people to retrieve the baby? I still wonder just _how_ Hagrid was supposed to transport the child across the country. That Sirius lent him his motorbike was a spur of the moment thing, a coincidence that he was even there at the same time, didn't that tell you anything?"

Again, no nod _or_ shake of the head.

"So you must _know_ that Dumbledore then proceeded to dump Harry in a basket on the porch of a muggle house. With Lily Potter's hateful relatives. Leaving him in the cold, unprotected from anyone wishing him harm for _a whole night_. What if it hadn't been _me_ that tailed Hagrid that night?"

Lupin stared at him, open-mouthed, with something between horrified realization and horrified denial.

"But of course, you _know_ these things. So you must also _know_ that Harry has been living in a cupboard under the stairs all these years, doing chores meant for people twice his age. Eating scraps. Living like a slave and probably unaware of the belt scars on his back and bottom, skinny as they are from malnourishment."

Lupin looked well and truly sick, and he was shaking his head fervently, eyes unblinking.

Regulus tossed a folder across the table, not bothering to hide his disgust. "Harry never receives any letters or presents -for those people to hide, because he's a freak that doesn't deserve any love-. I'm almost tempted to ask if you ever sent any or if you never did because Dumbledore said he'd make sure Harry received no mail. I don't want to know. I'm afraid I'd learn you actually bought whatever excuse he'd have given, like 'Harry doesn't need the burden of overbearing fan mail' and should have a normal childhood." He shook his head. "There were so many ways you could have been part of his life, so many ways you could have seen what it was like for him, but your shameless abandonment is not why I'm disgusted with you."

Regulus slowly rose to his feet. "The first reason is because you didn't bother to even go see Sirius and demand an explanation. If you'd bothered, you'd have learned the truth and none of this would have happened." He leaned forward, palms on the table. "The second reason is because that meant I had to wait seven fucking years before there was someone honorable high enough in the DMLE for me to have a shot at getting things moving. The third reason is that I ended up having to _use_ my brother's godson as _blackmail_ _material_ against the minister in order to make sure Sirius finally got the proper procedure. He never even got charged!"

Lupin stared at him, then slowly bowed his head.

"And the fourth, oh, this one's the worst. The fourth is that it wasn't bad enough that Sirius spent seven years reliving that night in Dementor-induced nightmares. It wasn't bad enough that he believes even now that he failed James and Lily Potter for suggesting the secret keeper switch to Peter and use himself as a decoy. It wasn't bad enough that he felt he failed Harry by letting Hagrid go off with him while he chased Peter and got himself framed for everything."

He released the petrificus, allowing the man to slump, to shrink as the weight of everything came down all at once.

"The fourth is that Sirius couldn't even savor the hope of freedom, because the first thing I had to tell him was that his godson was living a hell engineered by Dumbledore -because the demented old man has decided to raise him as an animal for slaughter, willing to die as a martyr for this despicable society know as Wizarding Britain. All because of a prophesy he decided he could interpret better than actual seers." He ended with a whisper. He'd gotten himself riled up. "Do you have any idea how much of a failure that made Sirius feel like?"

Regulus summoned a small vial from his pouch and put the memory of Rookwood and Pettigrew inside it. Then he filled another one with Dumbledore dumping Harry on the porch.

And to make sure he left a lasting impression, he spelled them unbreakable and smashed them on the table, hard enough to make Lupin jump in fright, along with his chair. "There will be a hearing on July 30 and Sirius will be exonerated. You will be called as a witness, but don't kid yourself." He left the vials behind. "You're not really necessary. And while I know Sirius dearly wants to have you back, I didn't come here in the hopes of helping that along, no." With a flick of his finger, he sent the folder into the devastated man's hands. "I'm sharing all this with you so that you can spend the next two months feeling _guilty_. Because it's not fair that Sirius should be the only one."

There was a long moment when Regulus just looked down at the thoroughly broken man and almost felt bad for being so harsh on him. Almost. "Mark my words, Lupin. If Dumbledore learns of me, my identity or that I have uncovered any of this before that date, I will _know_ you went running to him and chose him over Sirius and Harry again." Lupin flinched. "And I'll make damn sure Sirius knows too."

No response.

Not that he expected any.

"I can understand that you feel grateful to the old man for letting you attend Hogwarts, but it's getting ridiculous! You're supposed to be a wolf, man! Not a sheep!"

Lupin looked like he'd been carved out of wood.

"Then again, wizards seem to like to dump their heads in the sand and use any pretext they can find to uphold their existing opinions. So I guess I may as well tell you that -and wow here's another reason he feels guilty- Sirius thought _you_ were the traitor near the end." Lupin finally looked back up at him. His face was... Regulus couldn't describe it. "So now I guess I'll know what kind of man you are based on what you choose: whether to feel even and _vindicated_, or to accept responsibility for what you did and should have done but _didn't_."

Regulus dropped Lupin's wand on the table and disapparated, reappearing on the Atlantic shore. That visit had been thoroughly unsatisfying, and left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew his brother wouldn't react well when he informed him of this (and he would, eventually), but for now, he needed to clear his mind.

"-. .-"

Sirius collapsed in bed, _his_ bed, late at night. He was mentally and physically drained, to the point where he almost missed the talks with Ted when Ted was being "Ted." The situation between the old men of the family and Marius wasn't getting any better. Any more of it and he would have to lay down the law. Hard. Marius didn't deserve their scorn, expertly veiled or no.

And to compound the problem, he finally learned that Griffon's Eye was gone. Not collapsed, weathered or decrepit. It was _gone_. The castle and surrounding gardens, orchards, maze and menagerie were gone. Sirius couldn't believe it, so he immediately apparated to the access shed. Strangely enough, the shed was still there, although it looked ready to crumble. He ignored the state of the building and went out on the path.

Nothing. There really was nothing there. Just a huge field of grasslands. There was no evidence that there had ever been a huge chateau there, with grounds the size of a small town. Calling the elves whose names he still remembered turned out nothing.

So much history, so many artefacts and portraits _lost_. The place he called _home_, with its library, the treasury (because not everything was kept in Gringotts). It was not there. Worse, there was no way he could think of for accessing the White Sanctum. Just like Grimmauld Place had the Hall of Black where he'd summoned judgment, Griffon's Eye had the White Sanctum, identical save for the fact that it was an expanse of immaculate _white_ instead of black.

He fell asleep thinking dark thoughts.

Only to wake up abruptly, not two hours later. And it wasn't because of a nightmare. Instead, it was a pull. Not unlike the one that he first felt upon approaching the house, just days before.

Confused but certain that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep unless he investigated the feeling, he got up, changed his pajamas for his earlier clothes with a switching spell, and left his room. The house was dead silent as the tugging lured him to the tapestry room. Once inside, he stopped in front of the wall with the heartstone, confused. Was he supposed to go back down there for some reason? And if so, _why_?

The other door opened more brusquely than necessary, and Regulus almost charged in, looking out of breath and worried. "Is everything okay?"

"Why? Did something happen?"

His brother got a hold of himself and walked over. "You mean it's not _you_ that called me here for some emergency or other?"

Sirius shook his head. "No. I just woke up because something pulled me here. And, apparently, you." He paused. "You apparated right into the hallway didn't you?"

"I was in a hurry."

Before anything else could be said, the heartstone slid out of the tapestry by itself. The family tree remained unaffected, but the black sigil melted into nothing, disappearing. And neither brother had a chance to say anything about it when the wall, tapestry and all, slit in half, vertically, and slid, _ground_ open without prompt.

The two wizards shared a look. "Once more unto the breach?" Sirius asked.

When Regulus shrugged, the older brother stepped into the dark. But it wasn't dark for long. Yellow globes of light appeared a way above them, in a row that went down and down, following the spiraling path. A sharp contrast to how Sirius had had to go through total pitch black the last time.

They proceeded in silence, until they finally reached the Hall of Black. As soon as they both arrived, the sigil stone appeared above its intended spot and slid into place.

Magic awoke. Like a fog it rose from the floor, and seeped from the walls and the unseen dome above. It changed color randomly at the same speed as the wing beats of a butterfly, but soon it thickened and started to take shape. To melt and merge, to mould until outlines fell into place. Forming into a perfect replica of the Number 12 Grimmauld Place Sitting Room

It was devoid of visitors, save for one person. Marius Black was reclined an armchair, one leg over the other, while looking through some documents and making notes with a ballpoint pen. A smattering of papers covered the tea table in front of him. Across from him was a large, Victorian sofa, and there was more than the necessary amount of space between it and the table. Marius had obviously dragged it and the armchair closer to the fireplace, where a strong fire blazed merrily.

Sirius connected with the wards and confirmed that the man really was there right at that moment. "What the hell?" Had the family magic pulled them there to have them spy on him? What for?

As it turned out, the answer came immediately. The door to the sitting room, which was to the left of where Regulus and Sirius were, slid open to allow Arcturus and Pollux entry.

"Lovely," Regulus muttered.

The two wizards let the door close behind them and strode until they were on the other side of the table from Marius. Seeing as how they wore their most imposing garments, crests and all, they were obviously there to make a statement. "We need to talk." Arcturus said stiffly.

Marius made another note, not looking up from the file. "Do we?"

To his credit, Pollux didn't use magic to wrench the papers out of his hands. Instead, he bent forward and physically plucked them. "Yes, we do." He unceremoniously dropped them on the small table.

Marius closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, then opened them and looked at the two, not getting up.

Arcturus didn't react to the deliberate rudeness of the man. "Now, I cannot claim to know how Regulus got involved with you, or how you managed to instill the loyalty he seems to have for you. The fact is that you have it, but apparently don't feel it bears any sort of recognition or recompense."

"Really." Marius said flatly.

"Yes, really." Pollux sniffed. "Not with the way you've been acting."

"The way I've been acting."

Sirius was starting to have a bad feeling about this, even as his mouth slowly opened. _Pollux_ was the one making accusations?

"Regardless," Arcturus cut in. "That is just half the problem. The real issue is that your presence has been simply disruptive from the moment you arrived. And you've continuously refused to accept any sort of input from others. Refused to even _consider_ that some of us who've been part of the Magical World, might know what we are talking about, in many instances _better_ that you who've been living in a different world all your life. Now I understand that the blame does not entirely lie with you. And I also realize that you are fostering some resentment over your disownment. I am even willing to admit that you are entitled to some of it. But if we're going to make any of this work, you need to set it aside."

Sirius couldn't believe it. Arcturus really had some stones to say those things. It was doubly worse because the old man honestly seemed to believe what he was saying.

He was about to apparate there and tear into him when an unexpected sound stopped him.

Marius started laughing.

It was slow at first, but it soon got louder. The man even hung his head and let the guffaws come until there weren't any left. "I am being... _disruptive_..." He gasped, wiping laughter tears away. He pushed himself out of his chair and slowly straightened his back, until he was upright, just as tall as his brother and cousin, but broader, physically much more solid. "You... think I'm showing _resentment?_" The awe and incredulousness were there in equal parts.

"Well? What else would you say it is?" Pollux shot back.

Marius shook his head and rubbed his eyes, before he looked at both of them. Long and hard he just held their gaze. Arcturus managed to return it well enough, but Pollux was soon on the verge of fidgeting.

Then Marius voiced a totally random query. "During the last year and a half of the war, Regulus almost died fourteen times. Did you know?" Sirius blinked and turned to look at his brother sharply.

Pollux opened his mouth, only to close it.

"I had to force him to stay in bed while he was still recovering. I had to argue with him to make sure he always let me and my wife know whenever he was leaving, even if it was the middle of the night. Just so there was someone to call Ted and Andromeda to stand by to heal him. And there was _always_ a need. I stayed up at night with fear that he wouldn't manage to get back. I spent hours upon hours thinking of new ways to help him cope with the pressure of him essentially being a third front, all on his own." He narrowed his eyes. "Where were you while that was happening?"

No answer.

"Oh wait, how unfair of me!" Marius snapped his fingers, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can't exactly blame you. After all, it's not like Regulus actually _went_ to you looking for help. I'm not surprised, given your behavior now."

Arcturus narrowed his eyes in turn. "You are out of line."

"Really?" Marius shot back. "An you feel you can decide that? I'm not part of House Black, something you feel it is your duty to keep reminding me of. If anyone is out of line, it's _you_ two. After all, I am basically an honored guest of the Head of House. A guest that _you_ two have chosen to harass."

"If you believe this is harassment, the Wizengamot and press will eat you alive." Arcturus answered.

"Ah, my mistake," Marius drawled. "I suppose it's not harassment without at least one Cruciatus thrown in, is it?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Pollux exploded.

Marius stared at him. "Unbelievable." He really sounded like he was having trouble believing what he was facing. "You really don't know, do you? Arcturus didn't tell you? I know he investigated things. He wouldn't have punished Walburga with permanent house arrest otherwise. Not that it was much of a punishment. Or did you convince yourself to forget? Or that it was never true? I honestly don't know which is worse."

Arcturus decided to just ask. "What are you getting at Marius?" It was just like him, Sirius mused, to demand clear answers while he, himself, did his best to dance around subjects as slytherin-like as possible.

"What am I getting at?" Marius asked. "Contrary to what you might feel, I don't resent you two because I was disowned and you weren't. After all, it was your _father_, Arcturus, not _you_ that tossed me out of the family. My problem is with the fact that, even now, you two are nothing but self-serving _scoundrels_!"

Sirius' eyebrows went near his hairline.

And the former house head frowned.

But before he or Pollux could retort, Marius glared at them with such sudden but steady anger that nothing made it past their throats. "Where were you while he was fighting a war on his own?"

No answer.

"Where were you while the young of your family turned on each other and lost themselves in different ways?" And his voice rose loud enough that it echoed on the walls. "Where were you when Orion was murdered, because he had to have been to die so young. Where _were_ you when, that very year, Regulus went after that madman's Horcrux _with every intention of dying!"_

Sirius turned to behold his silent brother so quickly that he almost got whiplash. Did he hear that right?

Marius was looking right at a noticeably paler Arcturus now. "Why is it that he turned up on MY doorstep, poisoned by Voldemort's potion and almost beaten to death by inferi, when you with your prized magic, when _you_ the bloody Head of House would have been so much more help? What kind of family _were _you to him that the thought of coming to you for help didn't even _cross his mind_? Why did he find it so easy, why was it a _relief_ that everyone in this 'great' House believed him dead?!"

Sirius was staring at the scene, jaw stack. He was starting to feel something he thought he never would again. Not since Charlus had passed on.

Neither wizard could say anything. They were just now realizing the real reason Marius had such trouble being in the same room with them. He was seething, _furious_ on the behalf of the young ones. And since they'd come prepared for a resentful ex-relative and didn't get what they expected, they couldn't react in time to what Marius had started to bombard them with.

And bombard he did. "Regulus didn't sleep for days after Sirius got arrested, did you know that? He became almost _obsessive_ with his hunt for that deceitful bastard Rookwood. He called the British Secret Service and threatened to mind-control the Interpol if they didn't help!" Wait, what?! "He spent two _weeks_ tracking the bastard down from country to country, only for his goal to slip through his fingers because the old codger obliviated his own memory of the confrontation with Peter Pettigrew, the memory Regulus needed to get Sirius out of his predicament. And you, you two did _nothing_!" He stepped forward, and the other two stepped back before they could stop themselves. "_**Nothing!**_ How many dozen members does House Black have? How many have influence in the ministry and WIzengamot? Why did they ALL do NOTHING? _Why was Regulus the only one in this family that bothered to lift a finger?! _Where _were_ you two while the sodding Heir of House Black was in that hell these past seven years?!"

Sirius kept switching, from his brother to his great-uncle, with each new shock.

But Marius wasn't done. Not in the least. "I had to hold him when he came home and passed out from a panic attack when he found out the Longbottoms had been lobotomized." Sirius felt his blood turn to ice. "He never said anything, but I _know_ he had alarms on them. Alarms he'd have been able to feel and respond to if he wasn't out of the country, out of range. Do you have any idea how much of a _failure_ that made him feel like? Not just because of the fact itself, but because the hunt ended in failure too. A hunt that wouldn't have had to be undertaken at all if either of you two had bothered demanding proper procedure for Sirius! And you have the _nerve_ to accuse me of not repaying Regulus' loyalty and affection."

Whatever airs Arcturus and Pollux had come in with, they were completely gone.

"But oh, what am I saying?" Marius was in full sarcastic mode now. "It's not like I'm surprised. You two were _never_ there for either of them after all." He rounded on Pollux. "Where were you while your daughter was imperiusing Sirius, not even out of school, into joining Death Eaters in their muggle hunting on Yule night?" Pollux blanched and staggered back as if he'd been struck in the gut. "Where were you while she was using the cruciatus curse as a standard form of _discipline_ during his teenage years_? _Or did you condone it?!"

No response.

"Did you condone it? Answer me, _brother_!" The last word was spat with disgust.

"No!" Pollux burst. "I swear I... No, this... It can't be."

"Then I suppose Regulus made it all up!" Marius yelled. "And you!" Marius turned to Arcturus, who took another step back in front of his rage. "You act as though you care about Sirius, and yet you pawned him off to Charlus Potter the first chance you got! Far be it from him to _dare_ believe he deserves better than being tortured because he was smart and dignified enough to not kiss the feet of a deluded madman! The night Sirius fled, Regulus was listening at the door while Walburga crucioed Sirius enough to break the memory charm she used to make him forget she'd imperiused him the previous winter. It took _four_ to break through it! And it was on the sixth that he managed to overpower her. SIX! From his own _mother_!" The so-called reject of House Black was breathing heavily at this point, so thick was his outrage. His arm lashed out, cutting the air. "And don't even _try_ to say you didn't know what was happening. Even _I_ know the family magic must have been screaming in your head while that was taking place! WHERE WERE YOU THEN?!"

His accusations were like an avalanche. A force of nature. So loud and heavy, so impossible to stand against that both old men drew back and, having already backed away repeatedly, could do naught but collapse on the sofa.

Marius Black towered above them both, glare smoldering. "And you have the nerve to walk around this place with your noses in the air. You have the _gall_ to come here and _bask_ in their accomplishments! Even though, throughout their entire lives, you _failed_ those two children in _EVERY MEANINGFUL WAY!_"

Sirius Black gazed at the man, not caring that his jaw would take hours to be scraped off the floor. He'd thought the man was incredible during the hearing, but that was _child's play_ compared to this. No wonder he was so calm during that mess. With inflicting a verbal smackdown on the formidable former Head of Black, with something like _this_ for practice, that was _nothing._

And yet the large, solid man was still not done. "Oh, I don't resent that I was disowned. Not anymore. My wonderful wife made sure of that, decades ago. But I admit that until now, I didn't really see it as something to be happy about either. But I've changed my mind. Being kicked out of this House must have been the third best thing that ever happened to me, right after meeting my wife and Regulus showing up at my door. I'm _glad_ I never got to walk the path that would have turned me into a parasite. I'm _glad_ I never got the chance to become the same sort of bigoted, self-important, self-serving, betraying _bastard _like _you_ two foremost citizens of this _depraved_ society."

Marius Black made sure his revulsion was clear as day, both in his voice and on his face, before turning and stalking back to the table. He swiftly gathered his papers, before he turned back to the shell shocked wizards.

And proceeded to throw their factitious way of life directly in their face. "I came for Regulus. Because I love him." It was said easily. Clearly. Like he couldn't see any reason why it should be embarrassing to say something like that out loud. "And for Sirius, because Regulus has told me everything about him. And because, from what I've seen of him, by the end of the week I'm going to love him too." Sirius felt something inexplicable tighten in his chest.

Beside him, Regulus was staring at the sight, with the same measure of stupefied admiration.

And still Marius continued. He slowly closed in again, looming over the emotionally bludgeoned old men. His countenance was surreal. The light of the fireplace was behind him, and the flames cast his front in shadow. The shapes on the walls kept shifting each time the fire crackled. "Listen closely, cousin. _Brother_." Arcturus lowered his gaze, and Pollux folded in on himself. "I'm only going to say this once. If you're offering help now only so you can take advantage of them later, I don't _care_ that you have magic and I don't. You and I will come to blows! If you _dare_ betray them again, I don't _care_ that you have a fucking Order of Merlin! In this life or the next, I will find some way to make you pay!"

It was a testament to how completely one-sided that whole "discussion" ended up being that both wizards took that threat completely seriously.

And finally, Marius Cygnus Black stepped away, offering a last parting shot. "I'm going to make the Ministry and your precious Wizengamot wish they'd never made the mistake of wronging Sirius, or Regulus for that matter. So I'm warning you, for the first and last time: unless you're ready to care for and about _them_ instead of the prestige they can bring to the name of Black, and by extension _you_, then stay the _Hell _out of my way!"

His footsteps might have been somewhat louder than usual, but Sirius was surprised that was the only evidence of emotional upheaval that Marius allowed to be seen, given how thoroughly pissed off he was. The lawyer stormed away, straight for the door, only to throw it open and almost smash it into the face of one Cassiopeia Black, who'd apparently been eavesdropping. Probably with Arcturus' and Pollux' knowledge.

The usually uptight woman looked white as a sheet, bewildered and completely off balance, in more ways than one, despite not having participated in that confrontation at all.

Of course, being suddenly subjected to Marius Black's searing glare could do that to anyone.

The lawyer threw his hands in the air and _did_ stomp away this time. "Gods above, they're like locusts!"

And before the magic dissipated and Sirius and Regulus were left in blackness once more, they heard one last exchange.

"Filthy Reject!" Walburga's portrait screeched. "How dare-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH GIRL OR I'LL BLEACH IT OFF!"

"..."

Silence.

Sirius barely registered the projection of the sitting room dispersing. He was too astounded by hearing his crazy mother be so quickly and thoroughly cowed. It figured that he'd _barely_ manage to witness that argument without totally succumbing to shock, only for _that_ to be the last straw.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting, slouching more like, on the bare obsidian. His dry mouth finally closed with an audible snap, and he twisted his stiff neck just enough to meet his brother's gaze.

They stared.

And stared some more.

And after another ten minutes, when he realized that, despite his best efforts, he could not come up with a reaction even remotely worthy of what he'd just witnessed, Sirius gave a jerky shake of the head and silently transmitted to his brother that he may as well try his own luck.

After a while, the youngest Black obliged. "Wow."

"Yeah." Sirius agreed.

It made him feel just a little bit better that Regulus failed to find a suitable reaction too.

"Wow."

Then again, maybe he spoke too soon.


	15. Chapter 14: Peer Pressure

**Chapter 14: Peer Pressure**

**"-. .-"**

Sirius and Regulus ended up spending the night lying on their backs in the center of perceived void of the Hall of Black. The older wizard didn't remember when he fell asleep, but he felt great when he finally came back to himself. The unseen stone beneath him felt soft. Like a cushioning charm had been cast on it. And yet he _knew_ that no magic could, under normal circumstances, stick to that material, not in that place. No magic besides that of the Ley Line, which mostly worked autonomously. Even the family magic had only responded, not been controlled, during the judgment.

So it could only mean that the Transcendental Hierarch of the family, or whatever gave Family Magic its sentience, decided to make them comfortable for whatever reason.

There was a soft hum at the back of his mind. It was soothing. A calming, healing, thrumming presence that seemed to soften the mental scars left behind by Azkaban prison. It almost made Sirius wish he could just stay in that spot forever. Almost.

But he had things to do.

Moving his head to both sides, he didn't see Regulus anywhere in sight. Either he'd been coherent enough to leave the Hall of Black once the shock passed, or he'd slept there too but awoken earlier for whatever reason.

Sirius Black climbed to his feet, surprised by the distinct lack of stiffness in his muscles and joints. Actually, he felt better than he'd felt in years, and he'd finally fallen back into his habitual, constant wandless use of the living presence revealing charm. In fact, he now believed that, with some practice he'd be able to evolve the sense into a perfect, 360-degree scanning field. It would take some time to figure out how to pick up everything, from the smallest pebbles to larger inanimate objects, but it should be possible. Magic could do lots of things, and this should be one of them.

Noticing the shining spot where the heartsone should be, he accurately guessed that the sigil had returned to the tapestry. A soundless translocation to the appropriate room revealed the family tree once again unmarred, wall whole. His senses could already paint, in his mind, everything in the room. Well, less need for practice then. Some extra focus allowed him to extend the field beyond the walls, so that was an extra point. Sure, he could pinpoint everything in his manor with a simple mental tug on the wards, but his new method didn't have that restriction.

Easing up on his mental effort, he swept from the room and walked down the corridors, scanning adjacent rooms as he went, just to get used to the ability. He didn't dare think a night's sleep down there had healed his fractured psyche completely, but his mind seemed to have recovered enough for this amount of multitasking to be possible again.

A tempus produced the time, in smoke, above his palm. It was still early in the day. Like Arcturus, Cassiopeia and Pollux, Marius was in the first floor guestroom assigned to him, probably sleeping. Pausing at the top end of the stairs, Sirius pondered on the display of the previous night. Nodding resolutely, he decided to tell Regulus to bring Leona over. The time in between would be enough to move Marius' things, as few as they were, to one of the suites on the third floor.

Since both Regulus and he stuck to their old rooms and didn't have spouses, he may as well use those apartments for something. Marius had been the one who offered to stay here instead of having Regulus cart him to and from his home. Sirius mentally kicked himself for not suggesting that he bring his wife from the very start.

Then again, there might have been grumblings if that happened (bringing a second _ghastly _squib). But now, after the righteous outburst of the previous night, that shouldn't be an issue.

Sirius was rather glad Marius wasn't out and about yet. He didn't really know what to feel about what had happened. Or maybe he should say he didn't know what to feel _first_.

Eventually, Sirius reached the study and spent some time polishing THE PLAN. But he grew antsy and, before he could give into the impulse of apparating to the tapestry room and calling Regulus through it, he spotted 'the item' on the desk.

It was the mobile telephone that Regulus had bought for him. And covered in runes, both inside and outside, to ensure operation in magical areas. Regulus said he had prepared a whole bunch of them over the years, but this was a relatively recent model. One that was more mobile phone and less huge, head-sized brick. After a cursory study of the small, grey screen and the keyboard, he formed the number he remembered Regulus gave him the other day.

The phone on the other end of the wireless connection rung once. Then twice.

Three times.

Four.

Five.

Then it cut off. Sirius removed the phone from his ear and frowned at it. He wasn't certain, but he suspected Regulus had rejected the call. Why would he-

A beeping noise and some vibrations notified him of the arrival of a text message that said "Call me at this number instead, no sooner than 20 minutes from now." And sure enough, it listed a 10-digit number.

Shrugging, Sirius did as instructed. He had an early snack in the kitchen then went to the drawing room and regally collapsed in the biggest couch he could lay his eyes on. He formed the number, and no sooner did the line ring the second time that the odd noise revealed that Regulus had answered.

The voice of his brother was somewhat muted, but understandable and, most importantly, tentative and a bit startled. "Er... yes? Who is this?"

Sirus grinned. "Reggie Reggie. You're telling me you don't know the number of the telephone you yourself left me?"

A pause at the other end. "I can't exactly recognize them all by sight if they're not stored in the memory under the necessary name." He scoffed. "Regardless, how in Merlin's name did you know how to call me on this number? I only bought and activated this phone a minute ago."

Sirius frowned. "What do you mean how? I tried to call you on the number you left on my desk, but you rejected the call and sent a message to call you on this one instead?"

"What?" Regulus was very surprised at this. "That doesn't make any s-" then abruptly stopped. "Oh. Actually, it does make sense."

"Yes," Sirius drawled. "It makes _perfect_ sense to anyone who has any idea what you're talking about."

Regulus scoffed at the other end of the line. "To answer your unasked question. I figured that since I'm going to travel back in time to yesterday at least once, I couldn't exactly go about with my cellphone on. I have no interest in finding out what bizarre things could happen if someone called me and there were multiple phones using my number running around. And since _The_ Plan is left for the second loop, I figured the second me would have to be the one with my main number active, since that's the one my acquaintances and MI6 know of. I was going to tell you, but it seems you called next-me before I could. So now you know."

Sirius managed, after jumping over some mental hurdles, to understand all that. "Oh." He figured that was evidence enough that he wasn't half-asleep anymore. "How safe is it to discuss our plans this way?"

"Oh, I'm pretty certain that it'll be totally possible for the government to listen in on all conversations in a decade's time or so." Regulus blithely admitted. "But mobile telephony is still in infant stages, so it should be fine, especially on a new number like this. Although privacy wards on our respective ends couldn't hurt."

"Where _are_ you anyway?" Sirius interrupted him. "At your penthouse?"

"No. Yesterday morning I went to check on my ongoing arithmancy programs and found them already updated. And there was a pop-up message that told me I'd already been there, or rather I _will_ have been there once I come back in time the third time. So apparently, while one next-me is already in Black Manor with 'dear' grandfather Artie and you, you'll apparently drag me back in time a third time for some reason. I'll just be staying away from home for the next 2 months, for the sake of my sanity. Don't time turners cause some sort of resonance that make them explode if too many of the same one exist at any one time?"

"Nope." Sirius answered immediately. "That would be too much of a contrived limitation from a second-rate work of fiction, don't you think? So anyway... I'm guessing you're going to be living here in Grimmauld Place with the rest of us self-serving scoundrels, eh?"

"You're not self-serving." Although the young wizard made sure not to deny that he was a scoundrel. How honest of him. "But yes, I suppose so." Oddly, he didn't sound very enthusiastic at all.

"Kreacher will be delighted," Sirius deadpanned. "What did you do to him anyway? He's far less loathsome that I remembered."

"Oh, I may have told him that mother used me to inflict deliberate harm on the Heir if House Black. And I also told him she'd obliviated me. Between that and constant exposure to my dogged efforts to keep an eye out for you during the war, and my subsequent avoidance of mother until she poisoned herself by accident, he got over most of the blind worship for her, and the indoctrinated hatred of you."

Sirius stayed silent for a while. "She poisoned herself then?" He didn't really care. Aunt Dorea had been his real mother, not her, even if just for a few years.

"By accident," Regulus confirmed dispassionately. Sirius couldn't tell if he was faking it or if he honestly didn't care himself. "Her tendency to disguise poisons as useful potions, in anticipation of potential actions against everyone else, bit her in the behind when she woke up with Wizard's Flu one night. She didn't have anything left in the bathroom first-aid kit, so she went to the potion lab and got a pepper-up, only it wasn't a pepper-up, but poison she'd disguised as such. And with no bezoars nearby..."

Sirius didn't press him when his brother trailed off.

"Is Arcturus awake?"

Sirius didn't bat an eye at the change of subject. "Not yet."

"Call me again when he is. Or rather never mind. I'll be there at breakfast. I need to ask mother something and I'd rather you and grandfather were there." Silence. "And Marius."

Maybe he hadn't changed the subject after all. "Come here in an hour then."

Regulus didn't say anything more. He just closed the call from his end.

Sirius moved the telephone away from his ear and stared at it for a long moment. He had a bad feeling the start of the day would get worse.

And today was supposed to be the day when Marius, as the counselor for the defense, would go to the Ministry in that capacity for the first time.

Marvelous.

"-. .-"

Breakfast was tense. And quiet. Everyone in the house (Sirius, Regulus, Marius, Arcturus, Pollux ad Cassiopeia) had gathered in the smaller of the two dining rooms, at the round table for informal meals. No one except two people said anything during the half hour it took for Kreacher to serve and clean up after everyone. Marius chatted lowly with Regulus about how they would invisibly go through the ministry and appear only in the minister's office. During his uninvited 'visits' Lord Black had made an appointment for his "legal counsel" with Bagnold and Amelia Bones, but Marius and Regulus decided to make their way there undetected.

Regulus had, rather smugly, previously informed everyone that he'd actually used, years before, ministry infiltration, down to a stroll through the Auror headquarters, as a test for his invisibility spell. He used his ward-bypassing apparition to go past the worst of the security checkpoints, but the rest was the new spell.

Once they arrived in the office without anyone realizing until the spell was dropped (Regulus would never reveal himself, and would briefly apparate away if either of the women decided to cast a Homenum Revelio), it would be a matter of misinforming any opposing parties via the not-so-undetected spying charms among the minister's things.

During the whole meal, neither Arcturus nor Pollux met the eyes of the others. Pollux looked particularly tired and stressed, like he hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night. His clothes were a bit ruffled too.

Sirius didn't realize he was staring at him until the old man felt him and risked a glance in his direction, only to look back at his plate the next moment. In all honesty, the Head of Black didn't know what to make of Pollux's emotional reactions to Marius' accusations of the previous night. Pollux _had_ been present at the judgment. He'd _seen_ Walburga using the Imperius and Cruciatus on him. So why he blurt "It can't be..." when Marius told him of the cruciatuses escaped Sirius.

Maybe Pollux had convinced himself those episodes were freak occurrences. If that was the case, Sirius' reaction to that would depend on the man's reason for that self-delusion. Either he chose willful blindness because it was too horrific to contemplate that his daughter would do that to his grandson on a regular basis, or he rejected the possibility because he was too proud to admit it could have _possibly_ been going on without his knowledge.

Mid-way through breakfast, Sirius decided enough was enough. "Right. Regulus has something to ask."

The younger wizard wasted no time. He pinned Arcturus with a half-lidded, intense gaze and forewent any and all tact for once in his life. "Did mother murder father?"

Sirius stared in fascination at the now broken plate, split in half by the knife he'd been using to cut through a sausage.

Around the table, everyone else had become similarly inert.

"It was a serious question," Regulus followed, not moving his eyes.

Arcturus' jaw set. His head was tipped forward, and his raven-black, wavy hair, shadowed his eyes. "I do not know."

"That can mean a lot of things." Regulus countered. "Even Aurors that find perfectly damning evidence of murders could swear, under veritaserum, that they don't _know_ the culprit murdered someone as long as they weren't there to witness it. Even if they truly _believe_ someone did it, they can honestly say they don't _know_."

Sirius was on his feet the next moment, face fully blank. The chair didn't make a scraping sound only because of the rug beneath it.

And between thoughts of what, when, how and _why can't Regulus give some forewarning that he would drop such a bomb_, he whirled around and stormed out of the room, path set on reaching the portrait of his hated mother.

It was only his constant scan that let him know more or less everyone had followed him out. He didn't care much though. They knew better than to try and stop him, especially in this house.

All too soon, he was in the hallway. The portrait was in his sight, covered by the dark green drapes. A violent release of wandless magic tore them away. Tore them _off_ the metal bars holding them up.

Walburga was there, in her life-sized portrait. An old woman in a black cap, sitting in an armchair in what looked like a replica of the parlor. She was as evil-looking as ever. Although she didn't start screeching immediately. Maybe it had to do with how pissed off he was. Or maybe it was because one of the people that followed him was the person who'd threatened to bleach her mouth off less than 12 hours earlier.

Gods, how he hated her. He didn't think he could hate her more than he did at sixteen, but now he might just get a reason. Not that he'd loved his father, with his passive endorsement of Walburga's 'disciplinary measures' and his own, occasional, use of the whip, but at least the man didn't go to the same lengths to push him into Voldemort's clutches.

"Walburga." Sirius said evenly, though the rage on his face was all too clear. That he refused to call her 'mother' definitely didn't go unnoticed either. "Why did your husband die."

The woman in the portrait stopped mid-way to snapping out some sort of retort or insult.

Sirius smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Your getup seems fit to mourn people, so I can only imagine you commissioned this portrait not long after father and Regulus died and presumably died, respectively. Come now, _surely_ enough time has passed that you can share the tragic story?"

"Don't think you can understand my grief, boy!" She snapped sharply. "Or my disappointment." She sniffed.

Oddly, that attitude made him feel just a little bit calmer. Or maybe his rage was just icing over, freezing. After all, touching things that are cold enough can be just as painful as getting burned. "Disappointment, is it?" He narrowed his eyes. "Over _what_. That he died too quickly?"

No answer.

Sirius decided he didn't have time for this. "Did you murder your husband?"

Again, no answer.

"You will answer me, woman!" He yelled. Loud enough to make her flinch.

But she was set in her opinions. "I did not kill him!" She sniffed, rising from her chair and staring at everyone defiantly. "He died because he was a weak wizard."

Sirius felt his insides twist in revulsion when he saw that Walburga actually dared act in any way sad. "What did you do?" His voice was low. Warning.

"What else could I have done when I learned just how much damage your desertion inflicted upon him?" She shrieked. "You, with your impertinence, your defiance, made him lose his mind! Just like I see you did you sweet Regulus." She had the nerve to look mournfully, disappointedly at his brother. "Why else would Orion have been contemplating pulling his support from the Dark Lord? I couldn't let him ruin the House of Black. It was his own weakness that killed him, not me."

"What did you DO?" Sirius asked again, shaking in anger.

"Will Sapping Potion."

The voice startled Walburga, because it came from nothing. Lacking Sirius' situational awareness, she hadn't seen Pollux and Arcturus walk behind the other three, or Cassiopeia ducking behind the door in the nearest room. If she had, she might not have been so brazen.

Arcturus let the disillusionment dissipate. "Will Sapping Potion." His voice was grave. Resigned. "It makes the drinker much more susceptible to 'advice' for a few hours." Sirius turned to look at his paternal grandfather as he spoke. "After Orion died and Regulus disappeared, I came here and interrogated her using familial enforced obeisance. It turns out Orion, though he hadn't caught on to her rather periodic use of the potion, had begun to shake off the effects, even after more frequent doses slipped into his afternoon tea. So she used a triple dose, which poisoned and eventually killed him."

Sirius stared at him, speechless, for minutes on end. "And you just LET HER BE?" It was inconceivable. "He was you son!"

"And what _should _I have done?" Arcturus snapped back. "Kill her? My niece, _Pollux_'s daughter. Make everything public and essentially declare House Black's opposition to Voldemort when Regulus was still part of his camp? What do you think would have happened if your brother was suddenly rendered useless in the madman's eyes?"

Sirius' temper somewhat abated at that. A glance in Regulus direction was just on time to catch the small grimace. "That explains one year," he allowed. Just the thought of Regulus writhing under the bastard's Cruciatus Curse made him feel ill. "What about _after_ his defection and disappearance?"

"It might have been a mistake," Arcturus admitted. "But I decided that being imprisoned in this then-dreary house with nothing but a crazy house-elf for company, and without access to the library or anything else but the basic amenities, was appropriate punishment."

Sirius wasn't fooled. "Really? Are you sure it wasn't just because you didn't want Pollux to find out what kind of monster he'd spawned." His other grandfather flinched and looked away.

The reaction was enough to give Sirius pause. After suffering in Azkaban, he didn't really wish it on anyone, despite feeling that some people deserved it. He looked at Regulus, and then at Marius, who despite being grim-faced didn't seem at all surprised. It made something click in Lord Black's mind.

Regulus and Marius had already _known_. Or at least discussed it enough to consider murder by wife a strong possibility. That Marius didn't bring it up during his outburst the previous night meant that he either understood why Arcturus did what he did and kept Pollux in the dark, or felt that he didn't have the whole picture and, thus, didn't have the right to judge him for it.

In a flash of calm in the eye of the emotional storm, Sirius realized he might have been acting a bit cruelly. It was a sobering thought.

But it wasn't enough to divert him.

Silently, he turned back to the portrait of Walburga, who was watching them all apprehensively.

Well, if nothing else, this at least removed any doubts about what he'd been itching to do ever since he came to the house. "Kreacher."

The elf appeared with a pop. "Yes, Lord Black?"

"Go to where you sleep and ward the area against any and all incoming sound. Then stay there for the next hour or until I or Regulus call you again."

With a hesitant glance in the direction of 'Mistress' Black, he elf bowed and popped away.

Sirius calmly regarded his so-called mother and raised his right hand to chest-level, palm up. Electricity coiled between his fingers.

Then he lunged his arm forward, his hand muscles taut. A bolt of lightning instantly crossed the one-meter distance and, whether because of the painting was part of House Black or some other reason, did not harm the portrait at all. Instead, it ignored all logic and struck the woman in it.

Walburga screamed and fell to the floor, shaking, twisting under the flow of raw electrical energy. Sirius watched her with less of a snarl than one would expect. His eyes were wide with disdain, and on some level he felt like he was getting some form of revenge, but most of his mind was focused on inflicting _punishment._

His passive scan was still on though, so he sensed Pollux' silent but swift retreat after the one minute mark. He supposed he could understand why he'd not feel up to watching what was happening. The woman screaming and struggling. A monster Walburga may be, but she was still, or had been, his daughter at one point.

Or maybe he just couldn't stand her inhuman shrills. Even in pain she sounded like a beast.

Disgusted, Sirius cut off the flow and let his arm drop to his side. Arcs of blue light traveled over his skin and sleeve for a few moments before dissipating as well. In the portrait, Walburga was panting and twitching on the floor.

It was just an echo. Probably only barely connected to whatever soul or spirit had passed on after the woman's body failed. But it still felt a bit vindicating to achieve that, especially since he'd hurled lightning at the painting expecting to destroy it, instead of striking the woman as though the painting was just a door to another room.

And yet he felt repulsed inside as well. He didn't know if he was disgusted with himself for feeling vindication at harming his mother, or at his life for being, like _her,_ so loathsome that it had brought him to the point where it felt _fair_ to see her in pain. _Inflicting_ that pain.

Somehow, he doubted that was the kind of person that should lead a family meant to strive for ascension.

Setting all those thoughts aside for later consideration, he connected with the house wards and commanded a surge of power to wash through the wall. The permanent sticking charm holding the portrait in place shuddered and popped like a soap bubble.

Inside the portrait, Walburga cried out in pain, denial and fear as her world rocked. The portrait fell and hovered for just a moment, before it tipped forward and slammed flat against the rug covering the floor of the entrance hall. Sirius looked at it with a sneer of contempt.

"Burn it."

Then spun on his heel. His path locked on the staircase that would lead to the tapestry room and, from there, the Hall of Black. The place where he, maybe, would find some way to heal his mind further, enough that he wouldn't be so callous as to feel nothing while making a father watch as he tortured his daughter.

"-. .-"

He ended up spending half the day in there, in meditation. He didn't feel very mentally healed though. Instead, he got a sort of message, more like a impression, that he needed a mind healer that actually knew what he was doing. No offense to Ted, but he wasn't an expert. And definitely no offense to Marius, who'd managed to get him over more issues in a day than Ted managed in the 2 months between him getting out of Azkaban and the hearing, but he wasn't a wizard, so he couldn't, say, examine him through Legilimency.

And there was that pesky problem of Legilimency being more harmful than helpful when there was no trust between patient and healer.

So, seeing his lack of progress in getting over himself, and mending his battered brain, Sirius instead finished THE DIAGRAM. He'd have to draw it eventually, but for now it was a mental picture, in three dimensions, of the reverse time jumps he and some others would have to take on July 30 and 31, and how they all fit in with THE PLAN.

For the sake of his mental unhealth, he decided to postpone the really convoluted time travel until his third personal loop. Now he just had to persuade certain others to join him on some.

It was late afternoon when he emerged from that place. He found Regulus, Marius and, surprise surprise, Leona in the drawing room. The first person he'd seen since coming back in time that he'd never met before.

Unlike Marius, who'd restrained himself to a single handshake during the first meeting at Grimmauld Place, his wife had no compunctions about basically gliding over to him and giving him a hug as soon as he entered the room. She even kissed him on the cheeks, reminding him that she was French. And seeing just how comparatively young she still was, with curly brown hair (not even a speck of grey) and how elegant and, why the hell not, beautiful she still was despite the age gap, he couldn't help but mentally reiterate something he'd repeated, over and over, for hours during the previous night.

And during his hearing.

And for minutes after every story that Regulus shared about him.

_Damn_, his uncle was cool. The _definition_ of the word.

Sirius had come with every intention of _not_ talking about business, but they still ended up speaking about some topics related to his upcoming hearing.

A point where Leona proceeded to solve one of the trickier issues they'd been wrestling with: media coverage. Sirius and the others had come up with some ideas to lure reporters to London around the time when that event would take place, but beyond some info leaks and misinformation they hadn't managed much. And they didn't expect to reach many people, if anyone, outside Britain.

So Leona casually mentioned that she came from a very well-connected family. A ludicrously large family.

From France.

And that it would only take one small letter from her to her father for the ball to start rolling. A ball that would probably attract people from more or less every nation that was a member of the ICW.

And even the ever neutral Switzerland.

Sirius had stared at the woman for long enough to be deemed inappropriate. And a few minutes on top of that.

And when he snapped out of his awed daze, the only reason he didn't snap something rude at the person chuckling at his expense was because it was _Marius_ who was doing it. After the previous day, Sirius was glad to see the man smiling. _Honestly_ smiling. Of course, his wife's presence seemed to be more than enough to cause that, but still.

Sirius still thought fondly to the way Marius blinked so owlishly at him, just before breakfast, when he suddenly informed him he'd been moved to one of the suites and that his wife would join him soon. The man had stared, then smiled at him, that soft, _warm_ smile he'd sent to him, _would_ send him, when the hearing started.

Arcturus and Pollux didn't show up, or even move about the house that much while the three of them were catching up. The same with Aunt Cassie. Sirius wasn't concerned. What he _was _worried about was that, during the two times he caught glimpses of Pollux, the man was absentmindedly rubbing his left arm. The spot wasn't quite right, so Sirius hoped it wasn't because the man had a dark mark. He was sure no one besides Regulus and Bellatrix had actually ever taken it, but he was still apprehensive.

He decided to make discrete inquiries with Arcturus as soon as they stopped hiding in their rooms. He assumed that would happen as soon as Leona and Marius retired to their suite.

Only it _didn't_. Cassiopeia hid in a corner of the Black Library, while Arcturus and Pollux both stuck to the latter's dormitory, or their own respective ones. Despite his new worry, Sirius could understand Pollux. Regardless of how justified or understandable it was, even _Sirius_ would want to avoid, for at least a while, the one who'd electrocuted his daughter in front of him.

But Arcturus? Maybe he didn't want to be questioned about how late he was in dealing with the problems in Grimmauld Place. And the way he dealt with it, or _didn't_ deal with it, once everything was said and done.

Of course, after a day of extraordinarily chatter-free meals and stilted communication during the planning and execution of the _plan_, Sirius was becoming annoyed. He set it aside during his early afternoon meeting with the Prewett Twins (and hadn't _that_ been an amusing encounter, those two had gaped like fish at the sight of the two Black Brothers alive, whole and _together_). But after the second day of Arcturus and Pollux doing what Marius told them to do unless they were ready to care for and about _them_ (ergo, staying the hell out of Marius' way), Sirius decided he would not stand for that silent feud for more than another 24 hours.

Because of obvious reasons, as well as Ted and Andromeda's rejection of his offer to welcome them back into the House of Black. He was supposed to have done the ceremony while Regulus was away doing whatever. But the Tonks said they didn't want the ritual to happen without Regulus there, and that they felt Sirius should have the time to first sort out the other members of the house, and the exoneration and custody.

So he took steps to ensure that his decision, to not stand for the behavior of the older Black men for more than another day, was appropriately enforced.

"-. .-"

Of course, Sirius Orion Black, Son of the House of Potter, Head of the House of Black, Hit Wizard Patrol Leader, Champion Lady killer, The-Lord-Black-That-Also-Currently-Wasn't-Lord-Bla ck, The-Man-Who-Travelled-Back-In-Time, The-Wizard-Who-Flummoxed, and The-World's-Greatest-Marauder, wasn't deluded enough to think his plan was foolproof. Well, THE PLAN was, or at least the _plan_, because he'd already seen it conclude favorably. But even _that_ one had been going through revisions, so it didn't count.

So he didn't actually expect the newest sub-plan to work.

Okay that was a lie, he _did_ expect it to work, because it was so blatantly _Gryffindor_ that the Slytherins who made up his family were unlikely to show sufficient adaptive capabilities.

In anticipation of that, he made sure they weren't the only ones there when he forced the issue of Arcturus, Pollux and Cassiopeia skirting around the others currently living in Grimmauld Place. It wouldn't do for everything to proceed as he'd foreseen after all. That would be _boring_.

That very day, the Daily Prophet had finally published the first story about what was supposedly happening. The news included excited descriptions of the first work on the GMP, speculations about the Black Phantom, and a mention of Sirius having been moved from Azkaban to a secure location, meaning that the cat was out of the bag.

Or at least so the world _thought_. And anyone not in the know regarding THE PLAN would assume Grimmauld Place was said secure location if it came down to it.

So Sirius set up a House of Black Formal Dinner and summoned _everyone_.

Ostensibly, it was a dinner meant to allow the new Lord Black to get acquainted with the current and potential members of his house in his new capacity. And a gathering meant to allow everyone to catch up on what had been happening over the years. Given the novelty provided by the existence of a new Paterfamilias, the turnout at these dinners was always the greatest. The main, large, ostentatious, magically expanded dining room was used for such occasions.

It sure helped that Lucretia had kept her word and notified each and every person she could think of that they (and their spouses, where applicable) might get invited to Number 12 Grimmauld Place through Family Magic sometime soon. It added extra credence to the official letters Sirius owled all his guests a day before performing the ritual summons. The turnout surprised him, given the very short notice.

Sirius shifted in his seat at the head of the table as the remnants of the first course disappeared. On his right sat Regulus as the implied Heir. Next to him was Lucretia and her husband Ignatius Prewett, who'd boggled at Sirius when he realized just _who_ Lord Black was. It was an amusing sight, that expression on the face of the brown-eyed redhead, especially with that neatly cropped beard of his. Next to _him_ were Cedrella Weasley nee Black and her husband Septimus. The blue-eyed patriarch of the Weasley clan, another fairly old redhead but clean shaven, had been far less obvious in his surprise, and not at all wary. Probably because he, like so many other guests, had been distracted by The Black Phantom. Regulus had agreed to greet people in his infamous attire, just to avoid having to make 'the reveal' more times than was required or fun.

Beyond Septimus was Cedrella's sister Callidora and her husband Harfang Longbottom. Both blondes had ended up dazed at the shock of who, exactly, had invited them for dinner.

On Sirius' left was Andromeda. Next to her was her husband.

And next to _him_ was dear Cissa. Sirius had to occlude his reaction when people found their seats. Narcissa (who'd shown enough sense to come without Lucius) only barely managed not to grimace at sitting next to a muggleborn, but she didn't complain. And given how she did talk to Andromeda, and didn't sneer at Ted's occasional comment, Sirius considered this well-meaning prank a success. It must have helped that they were talking about the dark rituals they'd tried to adapt to help Harry, and that Ted could actually contribute to the discussion in a meaningful fashion.

Beyond Narcissa was Aunt Cassie, looking sullen as she picked at her food while trying to act as though she wasn't sullen and just picking at her food. Arcturus was next, straight-backed and silent, with Pollux next to him. The latter didn't look very good. Occasionally he would take silent, deep breaths and move his left shoulder.

That left the other end of the table, a spot normally reserved for the guest of honor, or the regent of the house. Or the former head of house.

So one could imagine the reactions ranging from mild bemusement to stupefied shock when the, initially unrecognized, long-disowned squib Marius Cygnus Black leisurely took that position. _After_ holding out the chair for his beautiful wife of course, who sat on his right. For someone who was subjected to the overstated shock and understated incredulity of so many people, he held himself with enough quiet dignity to put an entire army to shame.

Sirius had used the time between the arrival of the guests and the dinner to bring everyone up to speed with what had been happening. The 'official' story was that Regulus "The Black Phantom" Black had uncovered more than enough evidence to have the Ministry by the nuts, and enough people had been blackmailed into setting up a large, public hearing where Sirius' innocence would be proven beyond doubt. It wasn't phrased _quite_ that way of course. Plausible deniability had to be maintained after all. Everyone understood that Sirius was the mastermind though.

The subject of where Sirius was being kept was not directly touched upon. Everyone _assumed_ Bagnold and Amelia Bones had misled the press and that Sirius had actually been allowed to come home and do whatever he wanted.

He wasn't about to share the secret of his time travel with everyone. There was no point or need.

So, as he waited for Kreacher to bring in the second course via liberal use of house-elf switching spells, Sirius Black swept the room to see if peer pressure was living up to its reputation.

"I'm sorry!"

Sirius started, and silence fell at an extraordinary rate. He didn't actually expect it to work quite so well, especially since everyone chatted with whoever was closest to them at the table and seemed okay with honoring Arcturus' and Pollux' silent request to be ignored. It _did_ make the atmosphere a bit uneasy, but not enough to ruin the overall experience.

He also feared Arcturus and Pollux would feel slighted at essentially being shoehorned with the other "common" members of House Black, in spite of their status. Or previous status. Maybe Arcturus _did_ feel that way, given his silence. He was, after all, the eldest member of the primary line.

Willing himself to not get sidetracked, Sirius locked his eyes on his maternal grandfather. Despite the perfectly cut and worn vestments, and the well groomed, short grey hair, Pollux looked just like he sounded.

Absolutely miserable.

There was so much raw emotion, visible despite Pollux' head being bowed lower than that of everyone else, that Sirius was almost struck dumb by the sight. Fortunately, the solemn Lord Black managed to stick to a mild interest when he responded. "Grandfather?"

"I'm sorry." Pollux repeated, daring to look up. "I _swear_, Sirius, I had no idea-" His voice suddenly died, as if he was only just noticing that there were over a dozen other people present.

"Of what?" Sirius feigned surprise. "That I was innocent of all charges? I don't hold you responsible for no one bothering to see how shady it was for me to be convicted without due process. If I did, I'd have to hold a grudge against everyone here except my brother." It was, dare he say it, a very Slytherin maneuver to say that. Showing grace while underhandedly pointing out that everyone present had failed him. Despite him having left House Black, he'd never been disowned, regardless of Walburga's tantrums, and the lack of heir change notification would have made it clear to everyone that they still owed him some amount of goodwill and deference.

Besides, that he left at all should have raised alarms.

"Not that!" Pollux shook his head. "I meant for..." He trailed off, looking guardedly at everyone else, some of whom were merely passing acquaintances, and some of whom were so-called Blood Traitors. His eyes eventually settled on Marius. Sirius couldn't see well from that angle, but he was rather certain his maternal grandfather was looking pleadingly at him.

Marius gazed back impassively, only minutely raising an eyebrow. It was a clear message that he wasn't going to intervene.

"I see it is a sensitive topic." Sirius titled his head when the pale, downtrodden Pollux quickly turned to look at him again. "If so, then perhaps it would be best to broach it after dinner." He picked up his glass of wine and shook it slightly. "In private." He took a sip and placed the glass back on the table. "That way, we will be able to explore it thoroughly." He pinned the old man with the most intense gaze he could muster. "In _every meaningful way_ as it were."

Marius didn't need to turn his head to give his undivided attention, but Arcturus's head shot up at that as well, and Cassiopeia turned sharply in his direction with the same speed.

Pollux looked between Sirius and Marius a few times, wide-eyed, before settling on the latter, stuck between hopeless and accusatory.

"Don't look at me," Marius held up both hands. It was the first time he talked to anyone at the table besides his wife. He ignored the avid interest that everyone else was showing at the unexplained drama and blatant power play, however unintended. "I didn't tell them anything."

"Three words." Sirius said, straightening in his chair. "Hall of Black."

Arcturus grimaced and returned his attention to the newly arrived food. Beside him, Pollux winced and did the same, while Cassiopeia tried and failed to look uninterested while drinking her own wine.

Then a voice smoothly picked up the thread of conversation. "You know..." Regulus Black's blue-grey eyes sought everyone across the table from him, settling on the distraught wizard eventually. "The thing about forgiveness is that it doesn't really _help_ the one being forgiven." Sirius blinked. If he wasn't already paying complete attention, he would have switched into high gear when he heard that. "True, it does offer _some_ peace of mind. But being forgiven doesn't actually absolve you of the responsibility of your actions. It can even do harm instead, when you get forgiven too easily, or too often. Verily, it helps the one _doing_ the forgiving more. Because when you forgive someone, you let go of the resentment or whatever else that was impeding your happiness. You _cut off_ the control you give the one who wronged you over your ability to feel at peace. But make no mistake..." He trailed off, letting the moment build. "Consequences _will_ be reaped, _in this life or the next_." The three eldest Blacks again winced as one. "That is one of the fundamental laws of the Cosmos, as I've learned from a very wise person. And forgiving doesn't mean forgetting either."

Everyone ate in silent contemplation after that, for a time. The silence was solemn, but not quite as heavy as Sirius feared it might become.

But it didn't last.

In House Black, and really among any Slytherins, bluntness was frowned upon, so no one was brazen enough to ask what the hell that had been all about.

Or at least that would have been the case. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on one's view, Septimus Weasley had been a Griffindor. Politics would normally have mellowed him out, but the wizard was one of those one in a thousand types that didn't _need_ to lose anything in order to gain something. Which was to say, he was someone who could get away with being upfront and backhanded at the very same time. "I suppose it would be too presumptuous of me to in any way imply that this dinner was organized with the specific goal in mind of providing enough peer pressure to wear down the reluctance of Pollux there to broach whatever topic that was?"

There was _no one_ looking at anything other than the red-haired, past-his-prime Wizengamot member. His wife Cedrella looked torn between proud and disapproving, while Harfang Longbottom was openly gaping at the size of his stones.

Septimus somehow seemed to bask in the attention without looking as though he basked in the attention. "And I suppose it would be just as rude of me to imply that it would be somewhat rude of the host to leave us hanging now that we know we are only here as means to achieve that single end?"

Sirius smiled and tipped his glass forward in acknowledgment. "If it is any reassurance, I always intended to host a family dinner. However, certain events prompted me to accelerate those plans. Know, however, that even if the ploy failed I'd not have been any less happy to have you all here."

"A very diplomatic response, Lord Black," Septimus nodded. "Perfectly worded in a way well suited to making people forget about the whole point of my intervention, which was the question of what that was all about."

Sirius' smile disappeared. This wasn't a laughing matter, and Pollux _had_ taken a huge leap of faith speaking up. He could respect that much. "Grandfather Pollux finally learned, the other day, why I left when I was sixteen." Both his grandfathers stiffened and Cassie snapped her gaze in his direction, looking mildly panicked. Sirius could understand the reactions, but this needed to be said. Needed to be _known_ so that history didn't repeat itself later. "I am unsure if he is more distraught over learning that Grandfather Arcturus knew but didn't tell him." He set his glass down, not averting his eyes from Septimus'. "Or over the idea that his own daughter would use unforgiveables on her own son -his grandson."

Everyone stilled. Lucretia dropped her fork and the others who didn't already know of that wavered between disbelief and horrified realization. The three eldest Blacks made sure not to look at anything but their food.

The Weasley patriarch managed to recover first. Clearing his suddenly parched throat, he chose his words. "You said unforgiveables. Plural."

Sirius inclined his head. He supposed it should have been hard to talk about it, but Marius' display had well and truly shattered any notions that he should be ashamed of who he was. Or that any of that was his fault. "Sadly, I was a bit slow on the uptake during my teenage years, so I didn't _quite_ accept that the Cruciatus was not an appropriate disciplinary measure." Which was stupid really. He'd had something clear to compare against, unlike others. "Given my exposure to House Potter, it is a bit pathetic that it took being Imperiused into joining a muggle hunt on Yule night for me to finally snap. I suppose running away from home wasn't the most dignified reaction, but I'd already tried before and been obliviated once, so I decided the risk of doing anything else was too great."

"Merlin..." Lucretia whispered. "Why did no one _do_ anything?"

Wondering if he was making a mistake, Sirius pointedly turned his eyes on Arcturus. After a while of silence, the man finally noticed everyone looking at him expectantly. Wonder of wonders, the former head of house didn't stand and leave. He sighed and proceeded to explain that he'd not been aware of things. Then he explained why he didn't take action right away, and why he didn't spread the information around after Regulus disappeared.

In as few words as possible.

And without any inflexion.

Oddly, Arcturus didn't mention that Walburga had killed his son. Sirius wondered if the old man was too proud to willingly place himself in a situation where others would show him pity, or if he felt he didn't deserve sympathy after screwing so many things up.

"I ask that none of you hold it against anyone here," Sirius said firmly, once everyone had allowed the new revelations to sink in. "Fate has already exacted the price. In my case we all know what it was. For Arcturus his apathy ended with Walburga poisoning his son to death whilst trying to bend his mind to her way of thinking by use of potions." There were the expected gasps. Arcturus shut his eyes and became unnaturally inert. "In a way, I'm glad I learned she did that. Because that way I can at least think _one_ of my parents would have been... well, a parent if someone had curtailed my so-called mother's insanity."

Sirius shook himself out of the mental tangent he was about to drift on. Maybe he shouldn't have said so much. When he set up the dinner, it hadn't been meant to act as a stage for him to garner sympathy. Or to air the dirty laundry of his forebears.

"You hate her." Septimus noted.

"Yes." Sirius answered. "And that is why I more or less overstepped my bounds today. So that you all can _see_ what willful blindness will do. What it will _create_. I have just figuratively stabbed both my grandfathers in the heart. I didn't plan to air these things this way. I just spilled them all out, on a whim, because I suddenly felt like making a point and didn't really feel any remorse over the harm it might do, or to whom." His gaze went cold and he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. "People shouldn't turn out like me. Shouldn't _have_ to exist."

He expected Regulus, at the very least, to express some sort of denial, but he didn't. He remained impassive. And when Sirius met Marius' gaze, there was only understanding in it, mixed with a sort of compassionate sorrow.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Sirius forced himself to relax. His chair was comfortable, but it seemed suffocating for some reason. He took a breath and closed his eyes. "Walburga would fully deserve to be disowned and stripped off the tapestry, just like her painting is naught but ash now. But that would mean us forgetting. That would mean just one more lesson unlearned. A larger chance for later generations to turn out like her, or to compound the conditions that would cause one of ours to become like her. And for others to turn out like _me_." His eyes opened. "Well I say _no more_. I say we should remember. _Always_."

No one seemed to have a different opinion.

So Sirius Black decided to finally start on his food, even though his appetite was long gone. "Walburga Black's spot on the tapestry now has a black circle of thorns encircling it. Henceforth, everyone will know she was the worst kind of betrayer. Feel free to come by for a visit and gaze upon it whenever you feel apathetic, so you know what inaction can help create."

The rest of the meal passed in solemn silence.

"-. .-"

After dinner, Sirius asked everyone to adjourn to the drawing room for half an hour to allow the food to settle before they went their separate ways. He, though, caught Pollux eye and silently hinted that they could have their private talk then. So the young Head of House left for the hallway and climbed to the first floor and entered the study.

He stopped just short of the desk and turned around, waiting. Pollux entered a bit later than he expected. His walk was slow, like the man had to put more effort than usual into keeping a steady pace and a straight trajectory. When he was finally inside of the door, the older wizard closed it and, with a deep breath, made his way to within two feet of Sirius, not raising his eyes to the same level as his until he came to a halt.

Sirius mentally commanded the house magic to activate the privacy rune-based spells on the walls and doors.

Up close, Pollux looked even worse than he did at dinner, and that was saying something. It was clear he hadn't rested, and there was a definite sheen of sweat on his forehead, like Pollux had spent too much running in the sun. Yet Sirius knew he'd mostly stayed hold up in his room. The contrast with the pristine state of his clothing, owed solely to self-cleaning charms, only accented the man's sickly pallor. The elder wizard looked his full 76 years of age.

What on Earth was going on?

After a moment's hesitation, Sirius couldn't stop himself from asking. "Would you care to sit down?"

"No." The answer came a bit too quickly, the younger one felt. "No. If I do, I'm not sure I'll be able-" His whole body tensed for some reason, and his grandfather had to close his eyes and breathe in, then out. He opened his eyes again. "I'm not sure I'd able to get back up again if I did."

Alarms, long gone dormant, began to chime in Sirius' head. He had no idea what they meant.

And he didn't really have much time to dwell on them. His grandfather looked at him with such intense, _earnest_ emotion. "Sirius, I swear to you... I had no idea of what was going on. I didn't..." Pollux pressed his palm to his forehead, then slipped his fingers through his hair. "I _should_ have known... I should have _checked_, but it never even occurred to me that Walburga would..." His head shook from side to side, uncomprehending, even now, that something like that could have happened.

"Yet she did." Sirius said flatly.

Pollux looked down and his whole body seemed to stiffen again, for a moment. His jaw was still clenched when he lifted his gaze again, and it took visible effort to loose it. "Yes... " He said softly. "She did... You have no Idea how I..." His left arm twitched as he spoke.

The alarms in Sirius' head got just a bit louder.

"You know, I had this whole prepared speech..." Pollux sniffed with something that would have been wry humor if the wizard had managed a smile. He didn't. "Spent lots of time on it the past couple of days, between writing my..." He trailed off, and his expression crumbled even further. "But there's nothing I can say that will make this any better, is there?"

_No, there isn't_ Sirius thought bitingly.

It must have shown on his face, because Pollux briefly looked away. His left shoulder moved stiffly, once, before their gazes met again. "You know, Regulus was right. About what he said..." His voice was a bit strained. Sirius almost didn't spot the change. "But he was wrong too. Getting forgiveness _does_ help so... I won't ask. For forgiveness. I don't have the right..."

Sirius stayed silent. Mostly because he wasn't sure what to answer to that. This was so far outside what he expected his "perfect" pureblood relatives to do that he'd been caught flat-footed. And a small part of him admitted that he considered it more than fair that someone should finally feel wretched over everything that had happened to him.

"And I suppose I never will..." Pollux's breath hitched momentarily, and he absentmindedly began to rub his left forearm.

Sirius latched onto that last detail. "Anything on your left arm that I should know about?" The edge in his voice was something he didn't even think of softening.

It was about time he confronted the old man about it.

But then his grandfather looked up again, meeting his eyes. His face was open, regretful and understanding, but also bore a shade of hurt. "My daughter really did a number on you, didn't she? You think we're _all_ liker her..." His words strained against the waver that kept trying to seep into them. His eyes never shifted though. "Did she really manage to make you hate us all so much? So much that the first thing that crossed your mind was that I had agreed to be branded by that madman?"

"And what else should I have thought about?"

Pollux chuckled bitterly and slowly began to fold up his left sleeve. Half-way, he halted and seemed to go still, but then he took another deep breath and pushed on. Sirius would have missed the beads of sweat that formed on his brow if he hadn't lifted his eyes to look at him. What on Earth did that all mean?

Nothing. No mark. Sirius grabbed his grandfather by the wrist and slid the fingers of his free hand over the skin. No hint of glamours or other means of concealment.

Pollux's voice broke the tense silence once more. "For what it's worth... When it happened... Well, when it got too much... If you'd come to me that night... I would have welcomed you. Protected you." Now it was Sirius' turn to narrow his eyes and twitch. "Arcturus too. He would have-"

"Ah, so that's how it is now." The words were out before he could wonder if it was good that it was happening. "Now _this_ I can understand. Shifting blame on the victim. The _rash_ teenager."

Pollux flinched at his tone. His eyes shut and he folded on himself as if he'd just suffered a physical blow. The grip he had on his left arm went rigid. It was enough to make Sirius immediately regret his outburst.

But before he could decide whether to follow his instinct or not, Pollux drew a shaky breath, then tried to speak, but had to breathe in again. "Right..." The man was paler. _Diminished_ somehow. It made the alarms already chiming in Sirius' head blare loudly. "That's all I had to say..."

"..."

With a last regretful look in his direction, Pollux turned around and walked away.

He only made it four steps before his whole body jerked. Pollux gasped, despite his attempts to hide it, and he almost fell over from the loss of balance.

Sirius covered the distance between them immediately, resentment temporarily set aside. He stopped right in front of him and, perhaps unwisely, grabbed him by both shoulders. Pollux hissed in pain when the hand gripped his left arm. "Dammit, now I _know_ something's going on!" The older wizard tried to even his breathing and pretend nothing was really wrong, but Sirius wasn't fooled. "Tell me what's wrong! Why are you favoring your left arm?"

Pollux shook his head and shrugged out of the grip. "It's nothing."

"It's not _nothing_!" Seriously, just how _dense_ did his grandfather think he was?

"I'll be fine as long as I get by to my quarters."

"Okay, then I'll walk you there."

"NO!"

Sirius stepped back, nonplussed by the reaction. Pollux hadn't shouted in anger. More like he sounded _desperate_ for some reason. More importantly, despite not having expected it, being so bluntly rejected actually hurt. And while his previous feelings had been concealed with varying degrees of success, this time Sirius didn't even _try_.

Pollux saw it clearly. It was enough to completely obliterate whatever composure he had. The old man lifted his free hand to cover his face. Sirius didn't really understand the meaning of the gesture until his grandfather's shoulders started shaking. Slowly, but then harder, until his whole body was overcome by tremors. The younger one had exactly six seconds to wonder if the man had started laughing and _why_, before he was shown that, once again, he'd gotten the completely _wrong_ idea.

Pollux fell to his knees and started weeping silently. His left arm made as if to rise, but it fell back, limp at his side, palm up against the rug. He would have fallen over, collapsed to the floor completely if Sirius hadn't instinctively knelt in front of him. _Steadied_ him with both hands on his shoulders.

But that was all he could think of doing. He had no idea what to do next. Instead he could just watch, baffled, and wonder what had happened to the world that had made men so much more prone to crying than usual. It was a complete 180. Weren't _women_ the ones most prone to crying? Or was that just fiction?

Or maybe it was just the effect Marius had on people. Made them cry for whatever reason. It had certainly worked on _him_.

But before Sirius could think too hard on what he should do next, the decision was taken out of his hands when Pollux gasped again and, despite the obvious stiffness and pain in his left arm, used it to clutch at his chest. The man tipped forward as he did it, and Sirius could do nothing but hold him up, gathering his arms around him and allowing the tremors to travel through him. His grandfather ended up with his face buried in his chest, and his right arm clinging to the back of his robe.

It was like a blast of ice cold water. The realization came so suddenly that it made him sick. High on his self-entitlement as he'd been, focused solely on how everyone else had presumably wronged him, he'd completely ignored the effects that all the events of the past several days had had on everyone else. Uncaring of anything but what concerned him directly, he'd acted precisely like just another one of those self-important, self-serving _bastards_ that saw themselves and their grand plans, but not the things and, more importantly, the _people_ in-between.

Pollux sagged against him, unable to stem his breakdown any longer. "Why?" His voice was hoarse. It shook, like the rest of him. "W-why would she d-do those things? How could she _kill_..." Even though he knew there was no answer, he was begging for one. _Begging_. "How c-could she do that t-to you? I didn't _raise_ her that way..." Even as the tears tried to wash some of his grief, each word seemed to wrench his soul just a tiny little bit more apart.

Sirius had frozen in place. Merlin, he'd been so caught up in his own misgivings that he'd completely ignored who Walburga _was_. He'd completely, _conveniently_ overlooked how _utterly_ something like that could _break a father's heart_.

And he'd only done his best to drag that mess as out in the open as possible, to _teach him and everyone else a lesson._

Sirius tightened his hold on his shaking grandfather and shut his own eyes. Earlier he'd felt sick, but now it was ten times worse. It was like he was sixteen again, finally realizing that _yes_, much of what he'd done up till then in school _had_ been bullying. Yes, some of what he'd done since coming back in time _had_ been unnecessarily cruel. Vindictive.

_Petty._

And it all had its roots in his own _ignorance_. Old man Charlus would have been disappointed. Marius would _be_ disappointed.

Sirius hung tighter to Pollux at the thought, for his own comfort as much as for his.

It was a long time before either of them said anything more. Pollux because he was incapable of stringing words together effectively. Sirius because he couldn't help but feel it was _wrong_, in some fundamental sense, for _him_ to be the one to hold him in a time like this. He'd been unnecessarily harsh on the man. Worse, he'd attacked, _tortured_ the man's daughter right in front of him. Sure, it was just a portrait. And sure, he had understandable reasons, extenuating circumstances, but there was just something _wrong_ about that whole situation.

Or maybe the sense of wrongness stemmed from the still unanswered question of _why_ Pollux had been acting as if he were-

Sirius's eyes snapped open and he drew a sharp intake a breath.

With great care, he shifted his grandfather so that he was leaning on him sideways. It let him actually catch sight of part of his face, from where he towered above him. The shaking had subsided, but his breathing was labored. More labored than ever. And the left hand still hovered over his chest, only slack.

"You know what the strange part is?" Pollux' words were low. As if they were drifting from somewhere far off.

Sirius opened his mouth but closed it when his grandfather made an effort to look up at him.

He gave a wan smile. It made for a painful sight, made worse by the tear streaks. "Even now that I know... I still can't hate her. She's still my daughter, you know? And I can't help but feel that... that _I_ did something wrong. Or didn't do enough..."

Sirius wished he could say something, but didn't know what. Should he reassure him? Up until 20 minutes earlier he only felt anger towards the man. And how _could_ he say anything positive when he _hated_ Walburga. If anything, the fact Pollux still cared about her made him a more forgiving person than he was. The fact that he didn't blame his dead wife for any of it showed he was even _more_ used to taking on responsibility than he was.

Pollux' smile faded a bit, and the light in his eyes dimmed. "And... even if I could bring myself to repudiate her... I don't think I could resent her. Or regret I had her..." He lifted his right arm, his good arm to gesture vaguely. Sirius took him by the hand without thinking. It made some of the light in those eyes come back, for a second. "After all... If I'd never fathered her... then you and your brother wouldn't be here..."

Sirius shut his eyes and inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Regulus he could understand. He was incredible, no question about it. But how could Pollux say the same thing about him when their relationship had always been borderline antagonistic? Especially during the past few days.

So he didn't say anything. Instead, he opened his eyes again and waited for whatever else Pollux was going to say.

But the old man didn't add anything, so eventually it was clear he had to. "Are you ready to get up?"

Pollux smiled sadly and moved his head from side to side. "No. I'm afraid I can't." He smiled sadly. "Remember earlier? When you asked if I wanted to take a seat and I... I said I didn't think I'd get back up if I took one?"

The dark thought that had flitted over Sirius' awareness earlier came back. It hammered at his temples. "What are you saying? What's wrong?"

Pollux laughed weakly. He gave Sirius' hand a soft squeeze. "Nothing's wrong. Not really. Just... something catching up with me. Something I've been outrunning since 1945."

Sirius blinked. His mind drew a blank. Whether it was because he didn't understand, or didn't _want_ to understand, he wasn't sure.

It only lasted a second.

Panicking, he did the only thing he could think of. He released Pollux's hand and flicked his wrist, calling his wand out of his holster. He thought of Regulus appearing in the tapestry room. He thought of his embarrassing meltdown. And he thought of the astounding _love_ Marius had shone with when he verbally trounced his brother and cousin. "Expecto Patronum." Instead of Padfoot, a huge, solid, brilliant white _bear_ came out of the wand. Sirius stared at it in shock for a few seconds, before he shook his head. "Ted. Andromeda! I need you in the study immediately!"

"It's no use..." Pollux whispered as the bear charged off, disappearing through the wall. "Calming droughts stopped working back in '48. And we tried everything else. I've just been drifting along since then..."

"Don't talk." Those had to be some of the most cliched words ever. Some of the most _unhelpful_.

The way Pollux didn't seem to even hear him added weight to that assumption. Even though he was looking up at him, he didn't actually _see_ him. "I hoped I'd be able to get back to my quarters. I wanted... I didn't want to add this over..." A tremor rocked him, and his pained, left hand gripped the fabric of his vest. His right hand sought Sirius' again. "I didn't want to add this to the list of things I did to you... But I suppose it's fair that I get to have this on my conscience too..."

The understanding snapped into place like a taut bramble.

It had been so easy to extend the hatred he felt towards his mother to everyone else in the family. It had been so _easy_, especially as a hurt, tortured teenager on the run, to do that. To blame everyone for their inaction. To forget that not everyone in House Black was so rotten. To convince himself that Uncle Alphard was the only anomaly. To ignore that Dorea Potter was also Dorea _Black_.

To overlook the fact that it was Ward Master _Pollux Perseus Black_ who got an Order of Merlin, First Class, in 1945. It had been his maternal grandfather that completely obliterated the wards around Nurmengard, Grinderwald's prison, by initiating a 13-layer Arcane Flux Discharge through direct immersion, _melding_ with the magical construct. It had initiated a chain reaction that caused all wardstones around the building to shatter, regardless of how deep in the ground and how well defended they were.

_No one_ should have survived that, yet he _had_.

It had been _so easy_ to ignore the high possibility, the _certainty_ that his health might not have been all there after the event. It had been so easy to misinterpret his self-imposed isolation in the wake of the war. It has been so _easy_ for Sirius to, instead, think Pollux felt he was too good to get involved with the rest of the family.

And Arcturus had _known_.

His grandfather's voice pulled him back to the present. "Please..." Pollux pleaded, as if he guessed his thoughts. His voice got weaker with each new word. "Please don't judge Artie too harshly. He didn't know any more than me about what your parents were doing. And... after you left and he found out... he didn't tell me... because he was just looking out for me."

Sirius wanted to curse himself, but he could only shake his head helplessly. The fatigue, the sweat, the breathing problems, the _pain in the left arm_. Sirius had been so _immersed_ in his dark suspicions that he didn't recognize those blatantly obvious hints for what they really were.

What kind of Hit Wizard didn't recognize the signs of a cardiac arrest?

And where the hell were those Ted and Andromeda when he needed them?!

Pollux squeezed his hand again, forcibly dragging Sirius from his bout of self-pity before he could lose himself in it. The old wizard's expression thawed into something painfully sorrowful, _wistful_ to a startling degree, and his mouth moved with all the concentration of someone who knew they wouldn't speak anything else afterwards. His voice was every bit that of someone who knew they had to put everything they had, to relay everything they could, because they were about to say their final words.

And even though they knew full well a few words would never be enough to convey even a fraction of what they wanted to share, they still did the best they could. Because no one should pass on without doing their best at least once in their lives. "I'm... so _sorry_ grandson..."

Sirius went rigid.

Then something rebelled.

Something turned, twisted in him. _Rejected_ what was happening. And when it realized that denial just wasn't going to cut it, it swelled, thrummed, inundated him completely. It threatened to overwhelm his awareness, but Sirius, in a moment of ruthless clarity, decided to give himself to it.

Because he'd shoved the sigil into that hole because he wanted to fix this family.

Because, by Merlin, it was just too _sad_ for someone's final words to be "I'm sorry."

And because, by whatever powers existed, his first accomplishment as Lord Black was _not_ going to be driving his grandfather into an early grave!

He didn't even consider resisting when the white and blue mist erupted from him. Washing over and through them both. He didn't bat an eye when the mist reached the wall and poured back, dissolved into itself. He didn't even look at it as it streamed upwards, like a rising cloud.

His mind was focused outward, but also inward, as it sought the Ley Line, but it didn't lead. Something else was guiding everything. Something that crystallized from the mist covering the walls, the shimmer that burst from everywhere and converged on the two wizards, like chaotic strands of gossamer that flowed upward. Whose ends traveled across their skin and through their clothes and bodies.

Sirius spread his arms outward, letting whatever was happening force him to an erect kneeling position. Before him, Pollux gave a short gasp when he, too was lifted, forced to straighten his back. Sirius intertwined his hands with those of his grandfather and spread his arms wide. The move brought their bodies closer and closer.

So Sirius pressed his chest against his. He closed his eyes and tipped forward, until their foreheads touched together.

It was surreal.

He thought his awareness couldn't change, couldn't _expand_ any more than it had, but it went to show that Family Magic was something else. The physical contact evolved into something _incredible_. He could feel Pollux. He could feel every bit of him as though it were part of his own body. No, better. _Completely_. Everything from the toes and fingers to the vertebra, the lungs, the stomach, the muscles, the brain.

And the _heart_.

It looked dreadful, even more than the myriad of blood vessels. They all were thin from disuse, and most of the blood seemed to be moved through force of will. As if Pollux' magic had been doing most of the heart's job for years upon years.

No, there was no _if_. That was precisely what had been happening. And the heart was weak, as though even the smallest shock could make it tear. No wonder the man had decided to stay away from everyone. Even the smallest of Sirius's practical jokes would have literally killed him if he hadn't stayed away. Even the smallest hint as to what Walburga was like would have been the end of him.

But he was still alive. Walburga either wasn't so insane at that earlier age, before her marriage. Or maybe she'd just behaved herself, kept the worst of herself hidden.

Which meant that for all her faults, she _had_ cared about the man who fathered her. Cared enough to shelter him from potential heartache.

The family magic pulsed through him, everywhere. As if pointing out that he could examine his new feeling of perspective later, when he _wasn't_ trying to cheat death on behalf of someone else.

He wondered, even as he _knew_ himself, how it had all come down to him again. The power had _moved_ him. He'd _given_ himself to it, so why was it waiting? Why had it _paused_ that way?

But then he remembered what Regulus said about that Raphael person, and he figured that if _that_ presumed higher power respected free will, then maybe Family Magic was the same? He wished Morgan la Fey would make an appearance and provide some clarity on the matter.

Seconds passed.

It didn't happen.

But he did get a mental poke that told him this wasn't the time he should be dreaming about beautiful women.

So without having a better idea, he looked at Pollux's heart again. Although he wasn't really looking. His eyes had closed just before the family magic overtook them. He didn't know what sense it was he was using, but it was remarkable. All-pervading.

He felt the heart, and then his own, and he became worried. Given his track record for screwing things up, chances were he might do something stupid and make his own heart turn into something similarly doomed.

That thought arrested him. If that could happen... then maybe the reverse was true as well.

So he sensed, he decided to _know_ his own heart (and didn't _that_ come across as interpretable in so many ways?) and decided that Pollux's should BE exactly like it.

An echo lingered at the edge of his awareness, and the magic responded, though it took over the rest of the process.

As though it had only been waiting for that single directive.

"-. .-"

Regulus Black rushed up the stairs to find everyone, and he meant _everyone _that had attended dinner, crowded in front of the door to the study. Ted and Andromeda were pounding on the door, behind which blue light seemed to shine and pulse. Arcturus was close to them, apparently trying to figure out a way past, one that would not piss off the wards.

"What happened?" Regulus wanted to smack himself for choosing to go to the bathroom _just_ when... whatever had happened... happened.

The person closest to him was Septimus Weasley. "We were all in the drawing room when a bear Patronus charged in and spoke with Lord Black's voice, demanding the presence of Andromeda and Theodore Tonks." His tone was tinged with curiosity and some worry. "Andromeda soon came back down and asked Arcturus for help trying to get past whatever means the study has of keeping people out. When the pounding on the door, which could be heard below, didn't seem to stop, everyone came here to see if they could offer assistance." He paused. "Ostensibly."

Which really meant they'd all come to gawk. Lovely.

Regulus considered apparating in the study, but who knew what lightning storm was in there? He didn't want to get vaporized. So he quickly made his way to the door instead, stopping on Arcturus' free side. The man looked morose. Sad. But not surprised. "What can you tell me?"

The former lord's face fell. "Do you know how Pollux earned his Order of Merlin?"

Regulus thought about it for a few seconds, and then it clicked with the strange behavior the man had exhibited over the past few days. "Ah." Damn. Sirius was going to beat himself up over this.

Unless he completely broke all supposed laws of magic again and decided to make things go his way through sheer, bullish stubbornness.

Somehow, maybe because of that reassuring hum at the back of his mind, he was tempted to believe the latter.

Of course, the bright light shining through the cracks around the door were a big giveaway too.

The light that was now fading.

Everyone waited with baited breaths.

The door didn't open. Instead, the bear Patronus came through the door. Regulus eyed Marius keenly for a long moment, but gave his attention to the silver-white protector when it shouted in Sirius' voice. "Dammit you two, I need you here yesterday! What's taking you so long?!" And promptly vanished.

Regulus rubbed his eyes when Ted and Andromeda began to shout and pound on the door again. Clearly, Sirius had raised the privacy wards on the study and forgotten about them.

Deciding not to waste time (apparently, someone's life _was_ on the line here) he apparated to the other side of the door. The sight of Pollux passed out in Sirius's arms would stay with him for years to come. "Sirius." His brother's eyes snapped up and locked on his. "You need to deactivate the privacy wards."

The oldest Black sibling blinked, before shaking his head in disbelief at his own lapse of mind.

But when the two healers finally rushed into the room and, after an immediate scan, pronounced Pollux weak and unconscious but _stable_, Regulus decided to indulge in the hope that everything might still turn out okay.


	16. Chapter 15: Retroactively Reactive

**Chapter 15: Retroactively Reactive**

"-. .-"

After living through over 80 years of life and two wars, Arcturus Black felt he'd experienced more or less everything worth experiencing, and seen enough of what could be that nothing could really surprise him anymore. That he had a better than average knack for predicting what others might do added credence to that assumption.

Or rather, it _used_ to. Until the week before.

Then he got it into his head that he could put Marius in his place. That was his first mistake. Or maybe the second. The first was believing there even was something he could take Marius to task over. Believing that Marius was being the disruptive one.

Not even in his wildest dreams did he think that meeting would turn into such a disaster. Or that it would turn out to be _awe-inspiring_.

It was strange that he only got around to thinking about it now, several days later. In the days after the confrontation, he couldn't really think of anything other than the idea that he should have been more against Pollux's decision to be present for the "discussion." If he'd not been there to take Marius' totally justified rebuttals, his heart might not have fallen on its last legs. Easily guessing his thoughts, Pollux said it was about time it happened anyway.

And Arcturus, as he carefully wrote down his cousin's Last Will and Testament – because the man didn't have enough control over his hands to do it legibly himself anymore – pretended he wasn't feeling as guilty over things as he actually was. Even as Pollux broke off from his dictation to lament what he now saw as the total lack of any sort of positive contribution on his own part after the end of the Grinderwald War. "I should have been more involved," he'd said. "Better to have died from the shock and disgust if it made a difference, than to live like a parasite for 50 years. Family first… So much for that."

If Arcturus didn't regret his assent to withhold the information about Pollux' condition, he definitely started to when Sirius called for a formal house dinner. He'd have gone to Sirius to inform him, request that he allow Pollux to skip it and talk to him afterwards, or prior to it, but Pollux was adamant that he did not. That he could manage to live through the dinner and talk to him afterwards.

That Pollux blurted his apology in the middle of dinner could only mean that he'd almost keeled over right then and wanted to at least say his piece before he passed on. Miraculously, he got through the dinner anyway, even if he _did_ have to live through everything Sirius said after his outburst.

And then it was over. Pollux went to speak with Sirius privately, and Arcturus spent the time wondering if the man would be able to survive long enough to get back to his room. The former head of Black knew his cousin intended to say his piece and retire to his quarters, where he would finally pass into the next life. After that, Arcturus fully intended to inform Sirius of the reason _why_ Pollux stayed away. Even if the man felt it wasn't enough justification.

The only reason he hadn't disregarded Pollux' wish to stay quiet about it was because the fallout would definitely kill his cousin, and he didn't want to be why he died. At least no more than he already was.

Sod it all, the older wizard thought. A fatal heart disease was a damn well better excuse than most. Especially since Arcturus himself had none. And he'd make sure Sirius and Regulus damn well knew it. If nothing else, that he set the record straight in regards to Pollux would mean he did right by _someone_ in his life.

And then the chance to clear even that little stain on his conscience was destroyed by Pollux himself, who finally couldn't hold it off anymore and broke down, forgetting about pride and revealing everything to his grandson.

At which point Sirius went ahead and healed Pollux. Somehow.

Not completely. He'd have to stay asleep for a while, to keep his blood pressure low until the blood vessels gained more strength, since Sirius had only managed to heal his heart, according to Andromeda and her husband. But that was just the thing, he'd _healed the heart_ somehow. It made Arcturus wish he hadn't pushed away the guidance of the family magic all his life. Ever since he accepted it from his father, he felt as if it wanted to control him, and treated it like something vile because of it, even though it didn't give than sensation at all.

The oldest wizard in House Black had been so nonplussed by that turn of events that he didn't snap out of his daze until after Sirius carried Pollux to bed and came over to talk to him. He asked when he was going to tell him of that health issue. Arcturus honestly responded with "after Pollux died." To which Sirius nodded once and left him.

He did say one last thing though. "It shouldn't have come to this." And everyone who'd been at dinner was there to hear it, waiting for their turn to pay their respects to the deeply asleep Pollux before leaving. "It shouldn't take something like this for a family to come together."

Arcturus was sure Sirius hadn't said it with the intent of making him feel guiltier than he already did, but it had that effect anyway.

Through it all, the former house head half-expected Marius to give him a piece if his mind as well. Or another piece. But instead, the man separated from the erstwhile group and had a private conversation with Regulus, which ended with the young wizard abandoning his straight-backed posture and rubbing his hand over his face, suddenly looking weary. Arcturus didn't hear anything because of the privacy bubble his grandson had absentmindedly produced, but it looked like he'd confessed to something.

The exchange ended with Regulus allowing himself to be led away from the room by the older man, who'd wrapped a comforting arm around him and continued to speak lowly until they were both out of sight.

Arcturus was surprised by the fleeting feeling of jealousy that caused. To see his grandson confide in and look up to someone who wasn't even part of the Black Family, and hadn't been for 53 years. Someone who didn't even have magic, and who already looked as old as wizards did at over 100 years of age, despite not even having reached the middle of his eighth decade.

But he decided to set it aside, because he was a practical man, and as surprising as it was he _did_ want to cultivate some sort of relationship with Regulus and Sirius. And he could see that if he was to establish a relationship with any sort of positive connotations, he'd have to go through Marius first. So as loathe as he was to humble himself before anyone, especially a squib, it was either that or risk being left behind.

That, and if Pollux lived through his ordeal, he might actually start things afresh with his grandchildren. If there was anything Arcturus was sure of was that he didn't want to be the cause of tensions between his cousin and the two. He'd always gotten on well with his cousin, even before his sister Lycoris and brother Regulus I passed away before their time. It was the one constant in his life that he still had, and which he didn't want to let go of.

So he'd gone to the drawing room and waited until everyone who wasn't currently living in Grimmauld Place left. Then he spent another hour mentally preparing himself for the talk that he intended to have.

Then he got up and made his way upstairs, to the third floor, stopping in front of the door to a certain suite.

A door he'd spent the last 10 minutes in front of.

Shaking his head, Arcturus Corvus Black mentally berated himself. Slyterins were cunning, sly, sneaky, but not cowards. With more confidence than he felt, he knocked on the door and waited. Leona was downstairs with Sirius, talking about something or other, so Marius should be alone in his room.

And waited.

Frowning, Arcturus knocked again. Could the man be already asleep? It was just past 9.

_Unless_ Sirius had told him of the house's ability to render the door transparent on command. Arcturus supposed it was possible Marius had used the function to check who it was and didn't want to have anything to do with him at the moment.

With a sigh, Arcturus Black turned away from the door and headed one story down, to Pollux's room. Not bothering to knock this time, out of habit, he was already closing the door behind him when he noticed that someone was already there.

And it just so happened to be the person he'd been looking for.

The only sign of acknowledgment from the man sitting on the chair next to the bed and reading a muggle novel was a very brief glance in his direction. The chair was parallel to the bed, and the book was held in place on his lap by a single hand. The other was intertwined with that of the sleeping wizard.

Arcturus spent a minute standing there, staring. Wrestling with the impulse to take the sight in front of him the wrong way. It wasn't an easy thing to manage, but manage he did. Even if it _was_ just because hostilities would do nothing but harm to Pollux. Theodore had spelled a sleeping draught into his bloodstream, not a Dreamless Sleep, so enough tensions and raised voices could still rouse him if they got out of hand.

Well acquainted with the room as he was, he didn't need to look for long before he found a second chair. With a flick of a wand, he debated for a moment and levitated it to a spot in front of the other one. He set it down at a distance that was neither too close nor too far.

He found himself hesitating again, not because of wariness but because he was surprised that he didn't feel the impulse to bristle at the way he continued to be ignored.

He sunk in his chair and waited, scrutinizing the man reading in front of him, completely unfazed by his presence. He had to admit that his previous thoughts about the man's appearance had been clouded by his lingering resentment. Marius _had_ aged more than him and Pollux, but he'd aged well. Better than his sister Cassiopeia even.

For a while, Arcturus wondered where he should start. But then he remembered the verbal beatdown he'd suffered, and how Marius' words had flowed seamlessly due to the total honesty he treated them and himself with. Maybe he should just let the words come on their own.

"I'm surprised you're here." No beating around the flagpole. Almost no tact. Maybe he was on the right track.

"Ted and Andromeda said he'll probably stir around 9 in the morning." Marius said, not looking up from his book. "And my face is probably among the last sights Pollux would want to wake up to, so I'm taking my turn now."

Had the impulse not been trained out of him at age 8, Arcturus would have rolled his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"And you know you already have the answer to your implied question." Marius retorted, outwardly calm. He turned the page and still didn't look up. "Regardless of our animosity, Pollux was still my brother for the first 20 years of my life, whether he likes it or not."

The former house head sunk back in his chair and contemplated the one before him. Switching his eyes from him to Pollux a few times, he noted the similarities between them. For all that he was the youngest person in the room, Marius Black looked wiser and much calmer. Almost in no way weighed down by the happenings of the past day. Arcturus almost followed the emerging thought that he didn't care a whit that he was partially responsible for Pollux ending up like that, but he stopped himself. Because it was just not true. Marius hadn't known of the heart disease, as they intended, and even if he _had_ known, it would not change the fact that Pollux and he _had_ utterly failed where Sirius and Regulus were concerned.

Which was what it all boiled down too, didn't it? That, and how Marius had been _right_ about their behavior since the day when Sirius took up the mantle. "I didn't pawn Sirius off."

Arcturus almost didn't realize he'd said it out loud.

Marius' eyes stopped moving from word to word. After a few seconds, the man snapped the book closed, left it to rest innocently on his lap and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. Arcturus had to force back the impulse to fidget as the intense gaze locked on his eyes and made it clear it would not stray from them for a long time.

Arcturus idly wondered if Marius Black knew of legilimency. Marius' countenance almost looked like he was daring him to use it.

The former head of Black thought better of it. He cleared his throat and repeated his statement. "I did not pawn Sirius off. I was even planning how to retrieve him when Charlus Potter stormed into the Black Country Manor as if there were no wards on the place at all." As he reminisced, his eyes moved from Marius' to the spot directly over his left shoulder. "It was when I learned that all Family Magics interact with each other. It was then that I learned that if the Black Family Magic wanted it, it could give any other Noble and Ancient House, or at least another Head of a Noble and Ancient House, total access to the holds under its auspice. It scared the hell out of me."

Marius didn't do more than keep gazing and listening.

Arcturus shook his head. "Charlus was… To say he was furious wouldn't really apply. It was beyond that. It was nothing so _base_. My first impulse was to throw around righteous outrage over him barging into my home that way, but it died when he smashed the door to my study open. I saw, then, what a Head of House in tune with the Family Hierarch looked like. I felt the wards of the manor slip from my mental grasp, making it clear that I wouldn't be able to use them to inflict any retribution over the perceived slight."

His cousin –because Arcturus had no illusions that Sirius would fail to bring Marius back into the family eventually– did not visibly react to his retelling.

"And Charlus didn't really cause any of that himself. It was just the Magic of Black taking his side, because he was coming to, though I refused to acknowledge it at the time, _rightfully_ throw my failure in regards to Sirius straight in my face." Finally, he looked Marius in the eye again. "He told me, then, what _you_ did the other day, almost word for word."

Marius uncrossed his arms and laid them both on the armrests of his chair, but didn't do anything else.

"There _was_ a reason I locked up once you got started you know." The wizard said wryly. "It's not as though-"

"Arcturus." There was no inflexion. No malice, nor hatred. Just a flat word. "Are you really going to cheapen this confession by trying to save face?" Marius wasn't amused, nor harsh. It was a simple question.

The wizard blinked. Then released a startled laugh that was quickly silenced when he remembered there was someone ill and sleeping right next to him. "Astounding. I really haven't learned anything, it seems." He shook his head, then met Marius' eyes again. "Charlus said something like that too, though I don't remember exactly what I did to make him do it."

It was maddening, how his nonmagical relative could stay so impassive.

The raven-haired wizard decided to pick up where he left off, hoping to avoid putting his foot in his mouth again. "Well, I say 'said.' He more like shouted really, and told me, in no uncertain terms, that if I really wanted my Heir back, I had exactly one year to try and make it up to Sirius enough to _maybe_ persuade him to come back to the family, after which he'd perform the ritual of adoption and make him a full Potter. He left after telling me that I should be ashamed of myself for letting those atrocities happen and for, on top of it all, making his wife –my cousin- cry through the results of my negligence."

And negligence was actually a kind word in that situation. Because Arcturus had actually been mostly indifferent. Ignorant. A full supporter of the school of hard knocks. Because as horrible as Orion and Walburga supposedly were (though he didn't know, until Charlus told him, just _how_ horrible they were), Sirius _should_ have, like any Black, figured out how to get his parents' approval and turn things in his favor, like any Slytherin, like any _snake_.

In his single-mindedness, Arcturus had failed to see that Sirius knew well how to gain their approval. He just didn't want it, because getting his parents' approval would have only filled him with shame.

Or maybe Arcturus saw it, but wanted it stomped out of him.

Just like those muggles were trying to stomp the magic out of Harry Potter, his great-great-nephew.

"I didn't try."

The silence hung. Heavily.

"I didn't even try to meet Charlus' ultimatum."

Marius said nothing, and his expression didn't change.

"You told me that even you knew that the Family Magic must have been screaming in my head while Sirius was being tortured by Walburga, and you were right." Arcturus forced himself to meet those eyes without flinching. "But at that point, because of my neglect and passive endorsement of the blood purists, the so-called screaming in my head was a constant fixture, so an intensification didn't really mean much to me anymore. The feeling was the same as when Bellatrix took the Dark Mark, and the same as each time she went on a raid. Stronger, but still the same. So I disregarded it, like always. Because, like my forebears, I thought the Family Magic, the Family Will, was something I had to bend to mine. To fight, like an Imperius. I thought my worth as head of the family was measured in how well I managed impose _my_ will over it. I only had my eyes opened to the truth when Charlus confronted me, and at that point I thought it was too late."

"If Sirius had come to me that night, I'd have listened to him. Welcomed and protected him." And here, Arcturus stopped, waiting for the rebuff.

But it never came. Once again, Marius surprised him, because he really had decided to just _listen_.

"I was going to go myself, to try to reason with him and find out why he'd run, but Charlus preempted me. His visit, and what I found when I came here to investigate, left me numb. I didn't really know which direction to take, and I felt like I'd only manage to steer my house wrong no matter what I chose, so I thought I should pass on the responsibility. I secluded myself in my manor, removed myself from the Wizarding World completely. I left the fate of the House in the hands of the younger generation. Regardless of who won the war, there would have been at least one member of House Black ready to pick up the pieces and decide what direction the family would take. That's why I never disowned Sirius, though I doubt the Family Magic would have abandoned him even if I'd tried."

The wizard expected Marius to scowl, to berate him for seemingly considering Sirius just a contingency plan, something to be _used_ for the good of the family, but maybe, just _maybe_ he understood that _that_ wasn't what drove him to make that choice. Poor as it was.

"And I admit, that taking that route, letting everyone think Sirius had only left because he was stubborn and against our House's views, was easier. And made sure I didn't have to tell Pollux anything too horrid, weak-hearted as he was. I thought it would have killed him, like Cygnus's suicide almost did, four years ago. I know now it should have been his choice, but I was the head of the family, so I thought it was mine. And I didn't want him to die."

"You didn't want him to die?" Marius asked, one eyebrow raised. "Or you didn't want to be _why_ he died?"

A pause. "Both."

For a time, neither man said anything else. Arcturus found himself studying the cover of the novel (_The Never Ending Story_, by Michael Ende, in German), while Marius never left Arcturus' face out of his sight.

"So Cygnus killed himself." Marius prompted.

"Yes." The subject tasted foul on his tongue. Another member of his family foolishly dooming himself. "I did always find it strange that he would refuse promotions and stay in the accidental magic reversal squad. Turns out he was involved in a ring that bound the magic of muggleborn pre-Hogwarts children and obliviated their parents of any memories of magic. It was his way of helping purge the Wizarding world of the 'impure.' When he and his associated were found out, he poisoned himself when they went to arrest him."

"Hmm." Marius tapped the armrests with his fingertips. "Regulus is beating himself up over that, you know."

The wizard's eyes snapped up.

"He's the one who found them out when they tried to pull that stunt on the royal family of Britain." Arcturus blinked owlishly. _That_ never made it into any reports. "The Royal Wizard was involved as well, it seems. Regulus only found out Cygnus was part of it when the Daily Prophet published the news of his suicide a month later."

Arcturus stared, speechless. What _could_ someone say when learning of something like that?

"But here's something I want to know," Marius said, crossing his arms again. "Alphard died in 1980. You're telling me Pollux took it easier?"

"In a sense." Arcturus shrugged helplessly. "Not because he cared for him any less, mind you. He was as much Pollux's son as Cygnus was. But Alphard never made a secret of his views, so as depressing as it might sound, Pollux rather expected him to die young. So while it _was_ sad for him to learn of his murder in a Death Eater recruitment ambush, it wasn't a _shock_ per se."

"I see."

The wizard didn't know what else to say, or if he should say anything else. Well, that wasn't quite true. He _did_ have something to say that he'd been avoiding. "I just want to state that what happened to Sirius… what I _let_ happen under my very nose is my biggest regret."

Arcturus hoped Marius could see the sincerity in his words. It was an odd feeling, this _need_ for that person, "House of Black's greatest shame," to believe him.

Marius didn't say whether or not he did. "You know I'm not the one you should be telling that to."

Arcturus inclined his head in assent.

So Marius finally lowered his gaze and opened his book at the page he was previously reading.

The former Head of House Black realized the dismissal for what it was, and he didn't feel all that insulted, bizarrely enough. Marius wasn't telling him to get out. He was clearly willing to read whether Arcturus stayed there or not, though the way he again took hold of Pollux' hand instead of letting _him_ do it was as blatant as silent messages got. A silent message that he should go on and have a word with Sirius sooner rather than later.

As silently as he could, Arcturus Corvus Black stood, levitated his chair back to where it was when he came in, and walked towards the door.

Only for the voice of his cousin to stop him as soon as the grasped the doorknob. "Arcturus." He turned around, but Marius was reading as diligently as ever, even as he made his point clear. "I trust you'll actually _talk_ to Sirius instead of taking the coward's way out and simply showing him the memory of this conversation."

And there it was. The reason Regulus looked up to him the way he did. The reason those two young men, Regulus especially, held such obvious love for the man. The reason Sirius had such faith in his ability to take the entire world to task on his behalf.

Because the man was already doing it, and doing it well.

The eldest wizard in the main line of Black stepped out and made his way down the hall.

"-. .-"

Sirius may or may not have expected him to come forward. Arcturus wasn't sure, and he didn't really care. He saw a chance to have a word with him after Leona retired so he took it. He'd expected the task to be more daunting than it turned out to be, but either it wasn't supposed to be, or the edge had been taken off by his talk with Marius.

So he told Sirius. Told him _everything_.

And his grandson listened, with as much steel in his eyes and unwavering attention as Marius had. His expression even flickered oddly half-way through his confession/explanation. Arcturus almost missed it, and he was worried about what it could have meant. Marius had seen through him completely, even noticed his attempt to, as he'd said, save face before Arcturus even realized he was even doing it.

What could Sirius have seen?

Arcturus pushed it aside for later review. "I know it won't make much of a difference but I _am_ sorry for what my neglect caused. And I know actions speak louder than words, so despite the fact that I probably don't have enough time left to live to make up for everything, I'll be at your disposal if you need me." The next admission was hard to make, but he managed it. "And I admit it will be hard for me at first, but I'll try not to do anything that could affect you or House Black without your knowledge."

Sirius stared at him long and hard, jaw clenched tight, as if he was restraining himself for some reason. Finally, he managed to ground out, in a relatively steady voice. "Apology accepted." It was visibly hard for him to keep his voice steady. Merlin, it made the old wizard feel like something… unsightly. Did his grandson really have such a hard time being in his immediate vicinity? "Now, I'm going to ask something I've been dying to ask for the past 20 minutes."

In other words, since the moment that odd expression flickered over him. "Ask away."

"What on _earth_ is wrong with your hair?!"

Arcturus blinked, startled. It _couldn't_ be. It just _couldn't_.

As though it caused him physical pain to do so, Arcturus Corvus Black got to his feet and conjured a hand mirror. He looked at his reflection and noted the state of his hair. His _grey_, almost _white_, hair.

And, in a most un-lordly fashion, palmed his face.

Resigned to never living down the exposure of his secret, he raised his wand and sketched a circle above his head with it. After using the spell every morning, he didn't even need to say _Colovaria_ out loud. He barely even thought it nowadays.

In the reflection, his hair returned to the raven-black color it was known for.

Beside him, Sirius' shoulders were shaking madly. Arcturus supposed he should give credit where it was due. He was fairly certain the lad would have dropped on the floor and started roaring by now. Unfortunately, after a tense few days, after writing his cousin's _Will_, and after living through his cousin's _death_ only to learn that, surprise!, he was going to be fine, the former lord's patience was sparse. "Oh come off it, lad! Leave an old man his vanity."

It was too much. Sirius dropped to the floor and started roaring in laughter. He tried to say something, but he only managed to gasp a few times and gave it up as a bad job. He laughed and laughed, and _laughed_.

Arcturus shook his head and made for the door as fast as he could without looking as though he was fleeing the room. Which was exactly what he was doing.

The door shut as soon as he was a few feet from it, and the blue shimmer of the wards flowed over it, from floor to ceiling. Clearly, his grandson wanted to prolong his torture and had imprisoned him in the same room.

The older wizard was careful to think of things _other_ than homicide. It wouldn't do to aggravate the wards after all.

By the sound of the gasping and heavy footfalls, Sirius was staggering in his direction, still laughing. Arcturus prepared himself for the ridicule, though he was sure Sirius would think it qualified as teasing. And maybe that exactly what it-

Sirius abruptly grabbed him by the forearms and spun him around. Arcturus would have lost his balance and fallen if the young man hadn't gripped both his arms firmly. Sirius Orion Black was grinning from ear to ear, as if he'd discovered that the meaning of life was cotton candy. "Gramps! Do you have any idea what you just did!"

Actually no, he didn't.

Sirius hugged him.

Arcturus blinked in shock, wrapped tight in the arms of his jubilant grandson. His brain shut down, then tried to reboot a few times but only managed on the fifth try. "It was great!" Sirius almost shouted in his ear. "You were _awesome_ just now! And you weren't even _trying_!" He pushed back, rocking back on his heels. "I mean, the prank was pathetic! Seriously, a failed color change charm, but don't you see it! You _pranked yourself_!"

The elder man was in a daze. "Sirius what-?"

Sirius hugged him again, even tighter than before. "You _pranked yourself_! I had to fool myself into thinking Lord Black was someone else, for _two months_! I had to bury the ministry in crap, and I had to _come back in time_ in order to prank myself! And you just did it so easily! You have as much Marauder potential as I do! I _knew_ I got it from somewhere! Maybe House Black doesn't suck so much after all!"

Arcturus idly debated the merits of pointing out the obvious fact that Sirius was babbling nonsense.

"Now we just have to cultivate your talent!" The young one pulled back and started rocking on his heels again, still smiling. "If we do it right, we might even be able to pull that stick out of your backside!"

The former lord's eyebrow twitched.

"-. .-"

It was finally time. The great hearing would be today.

Sirius had always known things would turn out great, but to actually see the hows and whys… It was satisfying, especially when _he'd_ done it all. Sure, he'd delegated many of the tasks, but he'd coordinated everything and, of course, come back it time to do it. It gave him such a great feeling of accomplishment. It overshadowed the grim air of the decision he'd taken in regards to the next time jump. A decision no one knew about.

Choosing not to think about it right now, Sirius looked at the only other person in the study. Marius was packing everything he'd need in his suitcase, ready to head to the ministry. It was just 7 in the morning, but he would have to be there in order to "miss" the emergency Wizengamot meeting despite being in the same building.

Lucius had bought the bait, hook line and sinker. The way the bait was set up, though, _that_ had been a surprise.

Edgar Bones was one of the people James and Lily had helped save after Regulus' ploy was exposed in the war. He was a great wizard, very well respected and very old. Unlike Dumbledore, he didn't hold any positions except the Bones hereditary seat in the Wizangamot. But also unlike Dumbledore, he was a genuinely honest person -bereft of control issues- that _everyone _respected, and many people outright _liked_, including those from the neutral block.

Sirius hadn't included him in his plans. Partly because he respected him too much to use him, and partly because Bellatrix was among those sent to kill him. And while Edgar _did_ have great respect for James and Lily, Sirius hadn't had much dealings with him or the Bones in general, and neither had the Black Phantom needed to interfere in their life, since the Order of the Phoenix, for once, did their job when Edgar and his family were attacked in 1981.

Not being approached didn't stop Edgar from figuring out things on his own though. He even waited for two weeks while he was "spreading the word" about how Black _must_ be given veritaserum. Then he lost patience and showed up, out of the blue, at one of the meetings between "Lord Black" and Amelia, where he jovially informed the two of everything he'd figured out. He'd essentially nailed, right on its head, the issue of Sirius' innocence and the ploy that would be used to prove it. He'd even guessed that Lady Longbottom was involved somehow.

So he helped Lord Black maneuver more or less the entire Wizengamot until it did precisely what Sirius wanted it to do. And he even pulled some strings (which was to say, told Amelia) to make sure Moody had to immediately leave on an assignment after escorting him to the courtroom. It wouldn't do to have him spot Regulus with that weird eye of his after all. They weren't sure _what_ that eye could do, but if it saw through invisibility cloaks he could very well have seen through the spell too.

And now here they were, on July 30, the day of his trial, and Marius, like Regulus who was waiting for him downstairs, was ready to go.

So was Sirius, though _his_ itinerary would be very different.

"Well, this is it," Marius said, pulling his briefcase off the desk.

"Yeah," Sirius drummed his fingers on the desk he was leaning against. "And now you'll have to completely upturn public opinion. No pressure right?"

"Well, I'll certainly do my best."

"You always do," Sirius agreed fondly. "And you'll be great out there."

Marius grinned. "Well, you of all people ought to know."

"Exactly." Sirius crossed his arms and looked at the paperweight near the desk lamp. "Be warned though." He met Marius' eyed seriously. "I'll be kind of a mess."

The lawyer grew somber. "Regulus showed me the memory of his meeting with you in Azkaban."

"Ah." Sirius nodded, somewhat uncomfortably. "Well, I can say I'll look a bit better at the trial, so that's one silver lining at least."

After everyone left, Sirius realized he didn't really have an itinerary, regardless of his earlier thoughts. Arcturus and Cassiopeia had gone to attend the hearing under glamors. Andromed and Ted were witnesses. That left only Pollux, and he was asleep. He was taking his recovery seriously and abided by all the directions Ted and Andromeda had set. Sirius had had a long talk with him the morning after his seizure, and told him in no uncertain terms that he fully expected him to get over himself and start practicing his old man routine for when he'd meet Harry.

Sirius didn't bother laying any ground rules. It was already obvious that Marius would most likely fall into the role of grandfather. The man was just personable that way. And his wife would easily become the grandmother.

Sirius shook his head, smiling. Look at him, already planning so far ahead. He really ought to stop.

After hours of going stir-crazy, it was finally past the hour when he knew he'd gotten exonerated. So, dressed in fine but not too ostentatious robes, he started the floo and tossed some powder in. "The Leaky Cauldron!" He shouted and stepped through.

As expected, it was deserted, as everyone was still at the ministry or at home, glued to their wizarding wireless. Before Tom the bartender could get a good look at him, Sirius had come out through the back door and opened the portal to Diagon Alley.

That done, he made a beeline for Ollivanders. The man was quite nonplussed to see him there, since he'd only _just_ come back himself and the shop was closed, and Sirius was supposed to still be at the MOM, but he didn't mind outfitting him with a wand. Though Ollivander did stare at him a lot.

Once out, Sirius portkeyed home, put the wand on the trunk -the so-called care package filled with documents, clothes and other things- and gave both to Kreacher, with strict orders as to what to do with it and when.

That done, he settled down to wait. And to make it easier, he went to the Hall of Black and mediated for hours, until evening came. He didn't come out when Arcturus and Cassiopeia returned. Instead, he came out of his meditation when the wards announced Marius' and Regulus reappearance, by portkey, in the entrance hall.

Getting to his feet, Sirius apparated to the drawing room and waited. It was the closest room to the entrance hall where he would have a reason to be at that hours. Sure enough, Marius poked his head it not long after he settled on the couch near the fire.

Marius entered, followed by Regulus. They looked pleased, but also troubled. Regulus levitated another couch near the fireplace, not far in front of his. When it was in place, he and Marius sat on it, though it was the latter that opened the discussion. "We need to talk, I think."

Sirius knew that was coming. He'd known it was coming for two months. It had to be. There was no way Marius, but especially Regulus, would let that breakdown he had in the courtroom, and in the washroom, go without some form of closure.

So they talked, long into the evening. What Sirius had dreaded most was that he'd have to tell Regulus everything he'd spilled to Marius in the public restroom, but it proved unnecessary. It turned out that the person he'd sensed at the door when he did the sweep, back then, had been _Regulus_, not an auror. Regulus, who'd raised a privacy ward between the two guards and the door, and listened to _everything_.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't embark on some philosophical tangent. Regulus just said he understood the hug they had two months prior a lot better.

Which was when his second cellphone rung. Regulus gave Sirius a suspicious look when looked at the number, but didn't explain the meaning of it. Upon answering, his eyebrows shot to his hairline and he left the room, saying he had some business to cover until they were bound to make the time jump, later that night.

That left Sirius and Marius alone, and it so happened that the older man knew exactly what they could spend their time on. Pulling his chrome briefcase in his lap, he unlatched it and pulled out a stack of papers, as well as a quill, which he passed to Sirius. Then he sat back, expectantly.

They were custody eligibility papers for Harry. And they only needed his signature.

Sirius almost couldn't believe it, despite having held those same papers two months ago –_one hour previous in actual time-_. All he had to do was sign those papers and they'd be magically registered with the ministry. Once that was done, he would only need a guardianship transference agreement signed by the Dursleys, or a document issued by the muggle authorities that forcefully relieved the Dursleys of all rights to Harry and passed them to him.

He knew which he'd be getting, even if The Plan hadn't started rolling yet, from his perspective.

Not wasting any more time, Sirius signed the papers and handed them back to Marius, _after_ making about a dozen copies just in case.

The two spent some time in silence after that, both waiting for the time when Sirius would drag Arcturus and Regulus back in time. Yet they both knew that _those_ two would not be the only ones experiencing such a thing. At some point, Marius started talking about some of the domestic tales Regulus hadn't shared, like his disastrous attempts at cooking during the first two weeks after his "death."

Sirius found himself trading some stories of his own, of their childhood, before the education and "discipline" became outright abuse for him. Marius understood even when he didn't spell it out for him, and he didn't make a big deal out of anything, accepting the stories the way Sirius wanted them to be.

Then it was over, and silence fell again. Sirius gazed at Marius, who looked back with different eyes from the ones he had in the morning. There was a sharpness there, like a piece of the mystery had been uncovered. Like he wanted to make sure he found any cracks that might be left, anything that could make him have another breakdown like the one at the ministry.

It amazed Sirius, really, how Marius had managed to dissociate him from the mess of a person he was during the hearing. "I wish my father had been more like you."

Marius inclined his head, applying a look half-way between understated bemusement and blatant surprise.

"After I ran away, I always wondered what my life would have been like, what I'd have turned out like if my parents had been even the tiniest bit like old man Charlus and Aunt Dorea." Marius' _sister_. He recalled well. "I was envious of James really. He had great parents, and they became mine too, but I still wondered, you know? What it would have been like if my blood family cared about me like my adopted one did. I suppose I experienced some of it with aunt Dorea. She _was_ a Black after all, but even that was never really more than half the experience." Sirius grimaced. His words weren't coming out as he wanted them. "I sound ungrateful, I know."

Marius leaned forward. He didn't say anything, but that was the whole point. He was listening, which was what Sirius wanted.

"And now… now I get the other half of the experience, all thanks to you." His thoughts turned to the papers he'd just signed, an impending time jump and the decision he'd taken. The decision no one knew he was about to act on. "It's all a bit daunting really," he confessed. "I'm not sure I'll be able to live up to your example."

Marius stood, prompting Sirius to do the same. The light of understanding had already dawned in those eyes of his, even before the young lord finished talking. Wordlessly, the elder of the two opened his arms, inviting him.

Sirius accepted the gesture. Returned it. Basked in the feeling of closeness. Memorized it. Maybe if he opened himself to it, felt it, he would get it right with Harry when he finally built up the nerve to try and give him a hug of his own.

"It's going to be okay," Marius murmured. His embrace wasn't as tight as the other one he'd received from him, but it felt soothing all the same. "He'll remember you." Sirius doubted it, but it was nice to hope he wouldn't have to start from scratch. That Harry wouldn't just see another stranger when he knocked on the door. "And even if he doesn't, he'll warm up to you quickly, like everyone in this family did." Marius pulled back, but not completely. He laid a kiss on his brow and pressed his forehead against his nephew's. It made the wizard wonder what it was about that gesture that uncoiled all the tension in his muscles. That loosened the knots of nervousness in his stomach. "Young Harry might be wary of you for a while, but soon enough he's going to love you just as much as you love him. You'll see."

It sounded almost prophetic, when _he_ said it. It was the only reason Sirius risked the hope it would actually happen. Because he didn't believe it himself. Not really. Not with the kind of messed up mind he still had. Every time he thought about the future with Harry that was just outside his grasp, his mind flashed back to when he almost started cursing the Dursleys in front of him. The moment when, if it weren't for Regulus, he'd have traumatized his godson through his own, unhinged temper.

The issues had to _go_.

But there was still some time before he'd have to twist the time turner six times. "Marius."

"Hmm?"

"I want you to come back with us."

Marius pulled back to look at him, though his hands stayed on his shoulders all the while. "I know, son. You _have _had me preparing for it for weeks you know."

Sirius shook his head. "No. That's not what I meant." Sirius took a deep breath and spoke again. "I want you to come back with us _tomorrow_."

The old man let the surprise show on his face. "Oh." And a broad smile blossomed on his face. "Young one, I do believe you just made my day even better."

"-. .-"

The time turner deposited Sirius, Regulus and Arcturus in the study. "Right, I should have made the trip with others by now as well," Sirius said as he opened the door for his two passengers. He knew he and Regulus were behind him, and wished he could glance back to see the look on his own face, but he knew he wouldn't, because he _hadn't_. "I'll call Arcturus here," Lord Black smirked. "I'll leave the task of explaining things to grandfather to... myself." Then he followed the other two out the door.

Once he summoned past-Arcturus to Grimmauld Place, he, Regulus and Arcturus all got ready to leave for the country manor of the latter. "Right, since I still want to get some practice in, we'll apparate." The plan was to meet with Marius there, who would be brought back in time by Sirius (again) just a few minutes after the time jump they'd just performed. The four would spend their time there for the next two months.

Regulus would be brought back in time (again) by Sirius (along with Marius), but he'd go to his penthouse for much-needed rest and relaxation. Although if things went well, the quiet and relaxation might not last for long.

That was the idea of course. In practice, Sirius decided to change things around, without letting anyone know. When asked about what next-Sirius would do, the one that brought Marius and second-Regulus back, Sirius had stayed tight-lipped. The answer was easy though: he'd be doing precisely what _he_, current-Sirius, was supposed to be doing but _wouldn't_.

Because Sirius knew he would not be able to tear himself away from Harry once he got close enough, so that left him with only one option: to get his issues sorted out _before_ he came back to rescue him from the Dursleys.

So after coming back in time, and after Arcturus and Regulus disapparated and headed for the Country Manor, Sirius pulled out a small string of beads. "Eternal Light." The passcode activated the portkey, and a tug behind his navel whisked Sirius away.

The international portkey was as rough and fast-spinning as ever, but Sirius didn't really mind. And when the spinning stopped and, thanks to a lot of practice, Sirius landed without even the barest stumble, he was in a perfect position to look around him and up, and to admire the crystal-clear waterfalls, the tall cliffs, and the luxuriant landscape. And the magical trip allowed his normally absent magical sensitivity to flare and vibrate against the wards protecting that sacred place from everyone and everything that would bring discord within.

With a steadying breath, Sirius held out a hand. The wards rippled at his touch, but didn't retaliate. Didn't translocate him away with his memory of the place's existence erased from his mind, and didn't deny him passage.

Sirius Orion Black stepped forward and disappeared. A ripple in the air, as if it was water, was the only evidence that he was ever there, and a second later even that was gone.

The last thing Sirius wondered before he stepped "out" of the world for the next two months was whether or not "seven weeks from now" and "right here" would be a believable answer to the inevitable questions of when and where he'd gotten his portkey.

"-. .-"

When Regulus appeared with his grandfather Arcturus in front of the Manor outer wall, he waited for Sirius to appear. When he didn't, he started to wonder what was keeping him. Maybe he was being fashionably late.

After five minutes, he was getting impatient and worried. He almost teleported back to Grimmauld, but just then Sirius side-along apparated Marius just ten feet from him.

The completely different robes Sirius wore were a clear hint that something was wrong. Or at least, well, different from before. "Okay, what am I missing?"

Sirius grinned. And it wasn't one of those fakes or forced ones, nor the honest one but still tinted with worry and self-recrimination that Regulus had become so accustomed to seeing after seeing it for 2 months. "Brother of mine, have I got a story for you."

One hour and three cups of tea later, Regulus had learned that Sirius never followed him after he and Arcturus disapparated from Grimmauld Place. Instead, he used an international portkey to go to Shangri La, in the hopes of healing his Azkaban-tormented mind before he came back to enact _The_ Plan. He was allowed in, because apparently whatever darkness clung to Regulus didn't cling to him (probably the dark mark, as they'd surmised). After a talk with the Tibetan Buddhist monks, he was serenely informed that viciousness and hotheadedness weren't side-effects of Azkaban. Rather, they were character flaws that he couldn't really blame on the prison.

Sirius said okay, he wanted to get rid of them anyway.

And the monks helped. Shangri La was a confluence, an intersection of no fewer than 5 ley lines, and a beacon of light on the Mental, Ethereal and Astral Planes alike. Which was to say, a perfect place for meditation and soul-searching where you could honestly look at yourself without the emotional baggage of millions of other people messing up your perceptions.

They even had a chamber, deep inside the mountain's foundation, not unlike the Hall of Black, where meditation was easiest. Where he'd managed to step outside himself, whatever that meant, and watch what colors his emotions produced, from pure to drab and to wretchedly dark and ugly.

The only break Sirius took from healing was when he got the monks to make him a porktey. A portkey which he dropped in his room at Grimmauld place, thus prompting his decision to go to Shangri La as soon as he traveled back in time.

Sirius confessed that he didn't feel he'd solved all his issues, not by a long shot, but he _did _believe he knew what they were now. And he fully intended to continue his soul healing until he no longer felt like the sort of person that shouldn't have to exist.

Soon enough, everyone retired to get some sleep. Regulus did too, but he had a call to make first, so he shut off his second cellphone and activated the first one. Ten seconds later, the number was called.

"-. .-"

The door to the perfectly normal muggle house on Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, Surrey, opened to admit a blonde 20 year-old, with a heart-shaped face, brown eyes and eyebrows that almost met in the center, making her look as though she was always frowning. Once the door was closed and the woman divested herself of her sandals, she quickly made her way to her bedroom upstairs and, from there, the walk-in closet. Once there, the wig was removed and deposited on the mannequin's head.

Just as quickly, she removed her unibrow.

A short walk later, she was in the bathroom, removing the last vestige of Sandra the Librarian from her face. She used the whitewash to clear her face with the ease of long practice. A short shower later, she was examining her reflection critically. Her brown hair was as vibrant as ever, and her facial skin smooth. Briefly, the woman smiled at the irony that she needed makeup to make herself look plain instead of the other way around.

Wrapped in just a towel, in that way that only women can manage, she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, intending to have a glass of milk. Homing in on the fridge as she was, she did not immediately look to the left, so she didn't spot the man at the table.

He, however, spotted her just fine.

She had barely laid her hand on the fridge handle when strong arms came around her waist form behind. She almost jumped from the surprise. He was supposed to be on one of those assignments he sometimes still got. Yet there he was. The man kissed the nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of the perfume she always applied after showering. The one she knew he liked. Turning to her left, her brown eyes met blue ones, though she said nothing.

But he did. "You're the money."

She was almost amused. "Every penny of it. Though I must wonder if that's all I'll ever be."

The blond man turned her around. "Well, you know that's not all. You are also a dry martini, with three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, and half a measure of Kina Lillet, all shaken very well until it's ice-cold. Add a large thin slice of lemon peel and there you are."

Ah, the life of those in service of Her Majesty. There could never be any communications without code. Although, the woman reasoned, life would be rather dull without them.

The man became serious once the frivolities were out of the way. "How are you, really?"

"Honestly." She pursed her lips, laying her head on his shoulders. "Not good. Not good at all."

"Did he not show up at the library?"

"Oh it's not that. He did. That's just it, he's fine. Too fine. Too _good_. And not just because I can never sneak up on him, or because he's quick to catch on to even subjects that would be too complicated for his age group." She sighed. "He doesn't deserve this, James. I have half a mind to just kidnap him myself as soon as he turns 8 if those so-called magicals don't get their act together by then."

James, of course, could understand well why she would say that. He did, after all, have a telescope mounted on the upper floor. A telescope that was always pointed at a certain house on Privet Drive, and which witnessed many hours of borderline slave labor forced upon a young boy. If he'd known _this_ was what he was signing up for, he'd have told M to shove that long-term mission up her-

Hit mental rant was cut off when his cellphone started ringing. With a sigh, he reluctantly broke away from his wife and pulled it out, only to raise both eyebrows at the number. Dare he hope? "Bond here. What do you have for me?"

"Is Vesper there?" The voice on the other end asked.

"She is." Literally. She had her ear glued to the back of the phone, listening to everything.

"Good, because she'll love what I'm about to say." James blinked, and could already feel anticipation bubbling. "Operation Slightly Subtle Slimeball Slander is a go."

Vesper broke away and performed a graceful pirouette. She stopped and leaned against the table, the corner of her mouth raised in satisfied glee.

"I'll let M know." Bond said.

"As if she hasn't been listening to this conversation from the very start," Regulus Black said drily. Bond could almost hear the _Bitch, please!_ in his tone.

"Touche." It was true. Regulus rarely made calls to Bond or MI6 himself, and when he did it was never for anything meaningless. As grudging as M was to admit it, admit it she did. Especially after the Crown gave him an award for special services. A top-secret award but an award nonetheless. Apparently, saving the prince and his family from a wizard conspiracy had its perks.

"Marius already has everything prepared." Regulus said without further preamble. "All we need now is to get it done quickly." By now, Vesper had returned to listen in. "If we do this right, we'll have him out of there on his Birthday."

"Excellent," Bond was eager to see that fat whale of a man and his horrible ilk get what was coming to them. He just hoped he'd somehow get to see reckoning being inflicted upon the so-called wizards that left the kid there. "I'll see you tomorrow then." He ended the call.

"Finally!" Bond's wife exclaimed, stealing a kiss herself for once. Then she strutted out of the kitchen, more energized than anything in that fridge could have made her. "Now I can finally give him a present instead of pretending I don't know when his birthday is. And I know just the thing!"

For his part, James went to the living room and looked out the wall-sized windows towards number 4 privet drive. Soon this depressing assignment would be over.

It was about damn time.


	17. Chapter 16: Subtle Slimeball Slander

A/N: I had some time off at the start of the month, and since I had to travel around the country it only served to break my updating rhythm. I'm back now.

The next chapter will be from Harry's point of view, at last. The Dursleys will get theirs, and I suspect the chapter after THAT will be the last of this story. I've already set up the sequel, as some may have noticed, but it might not come out immediately. I think it's high time I treated the readers of my OTHER fanfic to something. It's been 7 months after all.

UPDATE: Many thanks to jeymien for pointing out that I'd mistakenly assigned some events to June 1. Canada Day and Indian Doctors' day both take place on July 1.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Slightly Subtle Slimeball Slander Starting Sequence Started**

"-. .-"

Margaret Hilda Thatcher, Baroness Thatcher, Order of the Garter, Order of Merit, member of the Privy Council of the United Kingdom, and Fellow of the Royal Society, was a very driven woman that had a degree in chemistry and had been able to pass the national bar despite only studying law in her free time during college.

She also happened to be the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, although she was, in fact, more proud of being the first Prime Minister with a science degree than the first female Prime Minister.

Now, in the twilight years of her tenure, she could honestly say she'd led her country out of a recession and through a war, despite what her opposition felt of her decisions. She remembered clearly how apprehensively her decision was received, to send troops to the Falkland Islands, but she'd been adamant that if a region recognized the Sovereignty of Great Britain, Great Britain had a responsibility to protect it as long as there were people there that considered themselves British Citizens.

The result of the Falkland Wars said a lot about how history, and humankind really, hated losers. It was doubtful that her popularity would have skyrocketed as it had if the army had been sent only to be defeated by Argentina.

Now, she was faced with another quandary, in the form of the general response to the Community Charge (popularly referred to as "poll tax") she'd proposed the previous year. Her popularity had fallen drastically in the polls, and it was looking more and more certain that she'd have to resign her position, and probably leave the party as well, soon. It was unfortunate. She was sure that the merits of her proposal would be seen in time, if only the bill passed, but it seemed unlikely now.

With a pang, the Prime Minister reminisced about her time in office, wishing that her term wouldn't end on such a low note after how successful her career had been until a scant two years previous. Alas, it looked as though there was no way she'd last for more than two more years. Briefly, she wondered if maybe her drive to uphold her beliefs had crossed over into arrogance, the belief that nothing about her views could be wrong. Lately, she'd been struggling with the frustration that people didn't see things her way more than with anything else.

Shaking her head, she cleared her mind of those morose thoughts. They should be left for another day. It was June 1st, 1988 after all. There were far more important things to worry about, and she didn't mean she was commemorating the crowning of Anne Boleyn as Queen of England or anything. That was something that happened back in 1533 and no one really cared about anymore. No, today she would have one of those rare meetings with the only wizard alive that ever received a special commendation from the Crown. And not just any award, but the Royal Victorian Chain.

Truth be told, she'd have been looking forward to it even if the man didn't have a personal token of high distinction and esteem from the Monarch. She'd first met him years before he got it after all, and she'd known about him even before then. How could she not, when M, the head of the Secret Service, had put together such a long and detailed, if disgruntled, report about him? Normally, she'd have felt more wary of such a person, even more so given her unease at learning that there was a whole, mystical world that defied logic living right beneath their noses, and it really hadn't helped that she'd taken office in 1979, when the so-called Wizarding War was at its worst.

But she didn't feel uneasy at all, because his stance was quite unambiguous. And it was an odd coincidence that The Black Phantom emerged as a key player in the magical war in the same year when she took office. Seeing as how she had to help guide her country through tumultuous waters under the weight of the ongoing Cold War, she was glad she didn't have to worry about that too, on top of everything else. Not that there would have been much she could have done.

It had actually disillusioned her, to learn about all that. She'd just been told that everything she'd been told in stories as a child, about unicorns and fairies and spells, was true, only for the wonderment to be snuffed out by being informed that Wizardkind had the same dissident problems as the rest of humanity. And that, apparently, the good guys were losing to Wizard Nazis.

Badly.

The Black Phantom was a welcome emergence at the time. A sneakier hero than the standard vision perhaps, and definitely one that cared little for people's privacy given that most of his actions consisted of (not-)breaking and entering, but she couldn't argue with results. The sheer percentage of storms, gas explosions and other "incidents" that were really caused by Wizards was astonishing, as was the extent to which they were being thwarted by the preemptive tactics of a single teenager.

And she could see through M's reports, both verbal and written. It was clear as day M was more annoyed that he was someone she couldn't control and who loved to get under her skin because he knew there was little she could do about it as long as her superiors believed, and rightly so, that he was the good guy in all that mess. Made worse when it was revealed the young man had known Theodore Tonks was essentially reporting on his movements all along.

Thatcher and M had been in the same room when Regulus Black had called to ask for assistance in tracking down that rogue wizard. The Prime Minister had gone to the office of the leader of MI6 due to the country-wide upheaval caused by the defeat of that evil Wizard whose name everyone seemed afraid to say. M seemed ready to burst a blood vessel when Black basically threatened to mind-control the Interpol and God knew who else, but Thatcher, despite not giving anything away, inwardly thought it was all very touching, to go so far for family. Romantic even.

Besides, they _did_ owe him, regardless of what M felt. The Queen herself had said so.

That was why she ordered M to go ahead and help.

She also told M she wanted to be kept up to speed, which led to her being in the same room as the strict MI6 division head when that troublesome agent of hers was sent to test the potential of an ongoing collaboration with Black, after the hunt for Rookwood finished. She definitely hadn't expected Black to make that phone call and so clearly lay out his demands, and she'd even let out an involuntary gasp when he said Harry Potter (and wasn't _that_ such a strange, _common_ name for a famous baby wizard) was the heir to the true main line of the Earl Marshall.

Knowing the amount of paperwork and ripples that would cause in the higher echelons of British society, Thatcher had felt glad that Wizardkind was essentially a separate state, even if it _did_ mean Britain had no custody rights over the likes of Rookwood.

Now, though, years later, she was more than a bit frustrated at that same state of affairs. It made her wish she hadn't taken such a personal interest in the long-term surveillance mission Black had requested. Reading the reports of what those… people who didn't deserve to be called British citizens were doing to their own nephew…

Technically, even if Harry Potter _was_, on paper, a citizen of a different state, they should have been able to get him out of there on the grounds of child abuse immediately. It almost happened too, which led to the first time when Regulus Arcturus Black appeared in her office. He proved much more personable than the Minister for Magic did, when she occasionally dropped by (which had gotten rarer after the war ended). And, though the Prime Minister hid it, he even inspired a measure of awe, if only because he actually lived up to the image she'd built of the young wizard hero.

The young man then bluntly told her just _who_ was involved in the placement of Harry Potter, why he was important, _how_ important he was, and what would happen if a certain, long-bearded, too-sure-of-his-own-wisdom old man felt like his plans were being meddled with. And he was just half the problem too. The Ministry of Magic was sure to turn Harry's life into a circus, assuming they didn't outright destroy it by giving custody to God knew who. The chances were low of Harry Potter ending in the hands of one of those Death Eaters that got off with the Imperius excuse, but they were still there.

And either way, trying to meddle with Harry's placement would kick up a can of worms that could seriously turn the Wizarding World on its head, and Black wanted to make sure everything ended in Harry's favor (and okay, his brother's favor too). And he was _certain_ that what he wanted would not be possible if they forced the hand of that depraved society too early.

In the end, Black got her to agree to wait until seven years passed before he tried to spill that particular cauldron.

She eventually agreed to wait and see because she found it odd that he gave himself that very specific ultimatum. And she admitted that the issue of the magical protection set in place there helped sway her. And ultimately, he'd said rather bitterly, it wasn't up to her anyway, to worry about the citizen of another "nation" more than said nation did itself.

Thatcher moved away from the window she'd been looking out of. Ultimately, it was bizarre that she, the Prime Minister, had come to be so personally involved with what was ultimately nothing more than a case of child custody. Then again, the boy was a person of interest to Her Majesty's Government, much like Black himself was. Harry Potter _was_ the "prince" of Wizarding Britain, and M did always say it helped to have someone like that owe them a favor.

Especially since Black managed to get out of having to owe them anything by paying, in cash, for everything from the penthouse to the salaries of the agents stationed in Little Whinging. Thatcher was still trying to figure out how he'd done it. The bank records associated with the identity they'd provided for him made it clear he shouldn't have those funds, and the man lacked an actual day job too. And the occasional mission he undertook, as a way to make up for them smoothing out the process of getting him established in the nonmagical world, didn't really get him paid enough to cover all that either.

Which meant that they couldn't know for sure what kind of resources he had access to. All they knew was that he must have come from a wealthy family, and even _that_ was based on the report of agent Bond. And regardless of the wealth, she doubted, as did M, that someone as farseeing as Regulus Arcturus Black seemed to be would just whittle away his family fortune that way. Although that seven-year ultimatum may have simply been the limit to which he felt he could stretch his available funds.

A knock on the door got her mind back to the present. Her secretary poked her head inside. "Prime Minister? The head of MI6 is here to see you."

"Send her in." Thatcher glanced at the electronic clock on her desk. 5 minutes to 11.

A grey-haired, no-nonsense woman wearing a crisp suit entered her office. Margaret would have thought her to be the standard grandmother type, if not for her blunt manner, cold look and often caustic demeanor when handling her subordinates. "Greetings, Prime Minister."

Margaret half-stood and shook her hand. "I wonder how many times I still have to tell you that it's 'Margaret' to you, Olivia."

"At least once more, as always" Olivia Mansfield answered as she took her seat. "At least until you leave office."

"Don't remind me," she muttered.

"Remind you of what?"

The woman really did make herself sound confused, but Thatcher didn't buy it for a second.

It must have shown on her face. "My, what a harsh glare you have…"

"And don't you forget it!" For a moment, the prime minister wondered when, exactly, formality had gone out the window. That she'd been the one to ask for that to happen was a minor detail.

Minutes ticked by. Both women were looking at the fireplace and the ugly, time-worn portrait on the wall. It always unnerved and annoyed Thatcher, how the Minister for Magic would come visit in a swirl of green fire, with just minutes' forewarning sent through that painting. And they sometimes came late at night too. It really irked them, that they felt the office of the Prime Minister was at their beck and call that way. At least Bagnold wasn't _completely_ insufferable, but it made her wonder if all magicals were inherently arrogant because of their power.

Across the desk, in one of the three pre-arrange chairs, M was glowering at the fireplace, for a different reason, Thatcher knew. Besides the impossibility of keeping them in check, Olivia was annoyed that, out of all people with claims of superiority, wizards actually had a legitimate reason to feel that way.

10:59 became 11:00.

"Well, I suppose punctuality is beyond the ken of wizardkind these days," M snarked, drinking from her glass of scotch.

"Now _that_ was just rude."

Thatcher was proud that she only _just_ jumped in her seat, but she internally frowned when M only rolled her eyes. Regulus Arcturus Black melted into view in the chair right next to her. He was sitting, cross-legged, with both arms idly resting on the armrests. His hood was up, but the illusory shroud he normally had on, other times, was not there.

"Greetings, Prime Minister. I _would_ say thank you for arranging this meeting so quickly, but since I initially only called M and she _insisted_ on this happening in your office, I suppose it's not necessary that I do so, yes?"

M scoffed, took another sip of her scotch and placed her glass on the desk. "I just want to see that annoying surveillance mission at an end." The woman made it sound as if it was too much of a meaningless chore, but Thatcher knew better. This wasn't her first time sharing a drink with the head of MI6. As abrasive as M painted herself, she was, nonetheless, more than a bit upset at being essentially turned into a passive observer of child abuse.

And she also knew that M wanted to finally free the agents in charge of the surveillance operation. More than a few had asked to be reassigned after a week of watching that boy, sometimes even less. Those that hadn't had formed a sort of attachment and often slipped and expressed their frustration with being disallowed to do anything. And some of them even broke regulation and interacted with him, helping him find his way back home from the store, or intervening when bullies were about to gang up on him. 'Who needs war?' M had sarcastically asked her once. 'When you can disillusion someone perfectly just by having them watch a brat growing up?'

They couldn't even simply blame it on wizards and say they were the only rotten ones. After all, Vernon and Petunia Dursley were perfectly normal British citizens.

"Greetings to you as well." Thatcher answered the man. He seemed to be in a much better mood than the previous times he visited her office. "Pardon my impatience, but I was led to believe you would be bringing a guest?"

"You assumed well. I just came early to make sure this would really be a private meeting. Fortunately, like before there is only one surveillance charm active, the one on your paperweight, so no one on my front knows of our movements."

Thatcher nodded. Years before, when they had their first meeting, Black had revealed the existence of that charm and cast a bubble spell on it to fool whoever was listening on the other end. It that acted like a camera film loop would behave, to fool security. M's eyebrow had twitched visibly when she heard, and she grudgingly called Black to sweep her office as well. Fortunately, the MI6 headquarters was clean. Wizards clearly felt they were invisible to that security body.

That it was mostly true annoyed M even further.

Of course, Thatcher knew Black must have been in the room before M even arrived. No doubt he cast some sort of ward that prevented wireless communications. There would be no technological surveillance either, much to M's future chagrin.

"So?" M asked, bringing Thatcher out of her musings. "Who are we meeting and where is he?"

"The answer to your first question is my brother." The prime minister's eyebrows rose. So little Harry's godfather was finally out of that dreadful place. And from her previous meetings with Black, she knew that said brother was the one most likely to end up in a position that could allow them to shake Magical Britain to its roots. Maybe it was finally happening? "And he's waiting for me to give the all clear."

Thatcher expected some sort of magical light show, or for him to disappear and reappear with his mystery sibling a moment later.

So her astonishment could be excused somewhat when he pulled out a mobile phone and sent a text message.

"There we go!" Black said cheerfully, pretending to ignore M's exasperated eyeroll. He put his phone back in his chest pocket and drummed his fingertips on the armrests. "He should be here…. now."

Which was when a sound like a gale of wind drew their attention to a figure flashing into existence on the armchair right next to Regulus Black. Thatcher didn't bat an eye at their seeming disregard for social norms. After all, she was long past the point where she actually expected wizards to do the polite thing and make an appointment, or at least knock on the door.

The man seemed several years older than Regulus, even though she knew he was less than a year his senior. His face was a bit drawn in, but not too much, and he wasn't really pale either. In fact, his overall countenance was exactly what she'd expect from one of the members of the House of Lords, minus the conceited, down-their-nose gaze. Although he _was_ a bit thinner than was strictly healthy.

Basically, he didn't look as though he'd spent seven years in hell and having his mind being feasted on by demons. He seemed… cheerful even, and held that same, elegant handsomeness his brother did, though some of the refined bearing seemed to have been traded for a bubbling mirth. A sort of boyish charm that must have rubbed off on him thanks to his relationship with the late father of the godson he was about to pull out of that poor excuse of a home.

And his facial hair was just perfect. Like his silver, clear eyes, it couldn't be natural.

The introductions were less exuberant than she'd expected, but she understood why. Regardless of how prone to jokes Sirius Orion Black may have usually been, this was one occasion when he wasn't going to take things lightly.

Saying that he intended to have Harry out of the Dursley house by his birthday made that much clear.

"-. .-"

Later that day, when Regulus and Sirius apparated mid-stride on the cobblestone path leading to the Black Country Manor gates, Regulus expected his brother to explode and start cursing or ranting. Much to his surprise, that didn't happen. Either the man wasn't as vengeful as he used to be, or he really agreed with those women.

It was a bit eerie really. He could understand his perfect composure during the talks, even if Sirius _had_ been surprisingly even-toned on the outside, if a bit rigid in his stance. But now, seeing him _not_ scoffing about their political games, was worrisome.

Or maybe it was reassuring. A suspicion started to form in Regulus Black's mind, that perhaps Sirius wasn't as even-handed as he made himself out to be. Maybe his brother really took it to heart, when he told him how badly things could turn out if he acted rashly.

The front doors opened on their own to allow them admittance. The Black brothers advanced through the entry hall and made their way to the parlor. They found both Marius and Arcturus there. And, surprisingly, they were discussing something over what looked like a late brunch.

That was another change. Even before the time jump, those two old men, though they didn't seek each other out, had started to behave civilly towards each other. Not friendly, exactly, but now that Arcturus wasn't going to try and take advantage of the two of them, Marius didn't insist that he stay the hell out of his way.

It was also rather amusing to see Arcturus take cues from Marius without realizing it. Normally, upon the arrival of the Head of House, you would have to stand and formally greet him until said head of house said to do away with formalities, if he said that at all.

Instead, neither old man did that, because Marius set his cup of tea on the tray, turned his attention to them and simply asked. "How did it go?"

Sirius sighed and fell in one of the other chairs huddled around the small table. "About as I expected. Any hopes I may have had that I'd leave smarminess behind at the Ministry of Magic have been dashed."

Well, that was a bit harsh, Regulus thought. After all, the meeting with the Prime Minister concluded on a positive note. MI6 would produce a folder of evidence which would then find its way into the hands of Child Services. Meanwhile, they, the wizards, would have to do the same for the magical side. If everything went well, they would be able to pull Harry out of Privet Drive on July 31, and have the Dursleys arrested on the same day.

It was the results of that arrest Sirius didn't like. Basically, the Dursleys wouldn't get anything but the minimum sentence for child labor and abuse, because apparently it wasn't all _their_ fault that they got saddled with another mouth to feed. And it didn't help that the two were, apparently, coerced, intimidated even, into taking Harry in.

By wizards.

Sirius, Regulus felt, must have thought that M was just trying to assert herself and show she had as much control over the situation as they did, by doing that. Or maybe Sirius was pissed off that she had a point. It didn't help that this whole mess only drove home that none of it would have happened if he hadn't gotten himself imprisoned.

So Vernon and Petunia would only spend a bit of time in prison, while Dudley would be taken into foster care. Child Services would investigate the suitability of Marge Dursley for that, and "accidentally" find out that she should be convicted of child abuse herself (Harry had bite marks from when her bulldog bit his calf). Add some animal cruelty charges into the mix (for killing/letting starve to death lots of dog cubs while breeding the best bulldogs she could) and that was one less wretch to worry about.

Marius regarded Sirius levelly for a while, after the latter finished speaking. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Clearly, the man had guessed that Sirius wasn't just going to take this lying down. He wanted those two to feel the same way Harry did, which meant he had to make their lives as unfair as possible for at least seven years.

The dark look combined with the slight smirk on his face spoke of impending disaster.

"-. .-"

The small neighborhood was made of neatly arranged houses located on both sides of a nice little road that ended in a cul-de-sac a few hundred feet away.

June 3 1988 dawned bright and sunny, and for Mister and Missus Grant, the inhabitants of number 8 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, this could only mean another nice and peaceful day. Which was exactly how they wanted to spend their time. That was the whole point for moving to the suburbs in the first place: to pass their twilight years in in peace and quiet.

The only things that could disturb the peace were the children of the neighbors, but they usually got together to play in the park located across from the department store, on the road Privet Drive branched out from, Magnolia Crescent, so they usually weren't a bother.

In fact, Mister and Missus Grant only ever saw their calm lifestyle interrupted when that boy showed up, sprinting up or down the street, running from his cousin and sometimes his friends. Given how often it happened and how scruffy looking the lad was, a stark contrast to the neatness outpictured by Missus Dursley, the most plausible explanation was that the lad, whose hair always looked as messy as the rest of him, always did something to upset his cousin for some reason.

Petunia herself wouldn't lament about it as often otherwise.

Between that and the gossip about how many weird things started happening at the local school after the boy was enrolled, it was clear that he was some sort of trouble maker. It baffled them really, to think that any child would look to cause trouble. No wonder Petunia and her husband tried to keep him reigned in as much as possible.

But they weren't about to think about that when they weren't being forced to. It would defeat the purpose of an easy life.

Missus Grant was putting away the last dishes, since she'd just finished cleaning up after breakfast. Next she figured that she could spend the next hour or two on the porch, watching the neighborhood and the clouds from her rocking chair. Her husband would probably make himself busy tinkering with that old TV set he was determined to make work again. They had a newer one they used, but he was a stubborn man.

Her plans were interrupted by a knock on the door. Quickly wiping the last water off her hands, she made her way to the front door and opened it.

She was faced with a rather handsome young man with long black hair, black eyes, and casual attire in blue and black. He was holding a wrapped, apparently home-made cake in his hands, but that didn't do anything to stop him from grinning when she opened the door, or from performing a rather grandiose bow. "Greetings, madam." He straightened, and his charming smile never left his face. "Thank you for so promptly answering. Truly, that lad must have been addled when he besmirched your sense of hearing."

Well. This was something that didn't happen every day. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mr…."

"Baron. Steven Baron."

"Mr Baron then." She smiled. Somehow, she couldn't help smiling back. The young man seemed so naturally cheerful. "And what did you say about my hearing?"

"Well, there was this boy loitering near the entrance to the park –lovely park by the way, the trees are very well kept – and when I asked how I would best go about meeting the people here, he said I should leave your place for last, or not come here at all, because you wouldn't hear me knock, and even if you did I'd have to yell to make myself heard, and repeat myself because you're senile and would forget immediately. Oh, this is for you." He handed over the cake, preventing any sort of reply from her. "And coming here, I noticed your home is lovely from where I'm standing, and my grandfather says the home reflects the character of the owner. So I thought, what the hell? The boy's probably full of crap. I've seen his type before. So I figured I may as well come here first and try my luck, and seems like I had the right idea."

"Oh." She blinked, looking from the wrapped cake to him and back a few times. "Well… thank you. I bet it was that Potter boy, wasn't it?"

The man looked confused. "Potter? I don't think so… I mean, his name started with a P but I don't think that was it. I should have paid more attention. He didn't introduce himself you see, even when I did myself. I just heard some other boys calling after him when I left."

"Ah, I'm sorry, you essentially told me you're not from around here but I just assumed… Anyway. The Potter boy is a small, scruffy-looking lad with a messy mop of black hair. I'd expect he was the one making trouble again?"

The man shook his head after pondering for a moment. "No, no one like that. Though his hair did seem a bit unkempt, it might have been from playing on the swings. It was light brown though, and he definitely wasn't small. He wasn't as large as some of the other kids there, but definitely not small. Damn, if I just knew the name… Ah, that's right. Pierce. Or at least I think that was it."

Well, that was unexpected. The boy from number 6 and Dudley Dursley's best friend. Maybe she should talk to Petunia at their next gardening club get together. It might not be the best idea for Dudley to have that boy as a best friend if what the stranger said was true. Besides, she'd always thought he looked rather like a rat. Maybe it was his bad influence that made Dudley so overweight.

Come to think of it, school was in session. What was Pierce doing at the park? And with his friends too? Presumably Dudley even.

"It's chocolate. I hope I didn't commit too bad a faux pas?"

The woman snapped out of her revelry, realizing she'd been staring at the wrapped cake while pondering the latest revelations. "Oh no. Not at all, actually I love it." Then she realized she had no idea what that visit was supposed to be about. "But… how can I help you?"

The young man's now free hand went behind his head. "Well you see, I'm looking for a nice, quiet place to move in, and my real estate agent recommended a few communities, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to spend some time getting to know people before I decide if I want to spend the rest of my life here, or at least the foreseeable future. Unless I came at a bad time…?"

"Oh no! Not at all." Missus Grant finally realized that she'd been behaving like a rather bad host. "We've actually just finished breakfast, but we skipped desert so your cake is definitely a nice surprise. Come in! My husband and I will be glad to entertain you with stories for a while, I'm sure he won't mind setting aside his work." She led the nice young man to their living room as she spoke. "I keep telling him to just leave that old television alone, but he's bullheaded. He wants to fix it even though we've long since bought a better set. It's rather endearing really."

"You don't say? I don't really know much about electronics, but that's mostly because I've had to focus on other things, but I'd definitely be interested in hearing about them. I really want to know how true it is that electronics stop working if even the smallest bits inside go bad."

"Not always." Mister Grant finally showed himself. "But often enough, yes that happens."

"Hello sir. Thank you for having me and apologies if I interrupted your work at a bad time."

As they shook hands and started to chat about idle things, Mrs. Grant unwrapped the cake and cut a few slices. It definitely looked good and home-made. She wondered if it was his wife, if he had one, or some other relation that made it. He didn't seem the baking type, but then again people could surprise you.

Ten minutes later, after partaking from the cake and deciding it was the best she'd ever tasted, the other two were already discussing the differences between fixing electronics and fixing peoples' lives. Apparently, the young man served in law enforcement for a while, but was discharged after suffering an injury to the chest.

It was amazing that he seemed so full of life despite going through such an ordeal, especially since it essentially put a stop to his preferred job.

"-. .-"

Regulus couldn't help but admire Sirius' acting abilities. Then again, he should have known better than to assume that seven years an Azkaban would dull his charm, or that his tactics wouldn't work on a woman "just" because she was three times his age.

Shaking his head, he invisibly advanced through the house, nonverbally casting detection charms. Sure, the house, like the rest of the neighborhood, was under the wards of Number 4, but that didn't mean Dumbledore hadn't gone through all the homes to place monitoring wards of some sort. Like the keyword-activated one tied to the Deluminator.

Sure, it made them seem a bit paranoid, but better safe than sorry.

After ten minutes of constant, judicious casting, everything came out clean, so he tapped the galleon on his belt to heat it up. The protean charm would make the one tied around Sirius' neck warm up as well. With the signal sent, Sirius could now subtly maneuver the conversation into the direction he wanted, without being worried that saying Harry's name would activate one of those instruments in Dumbledore's office.

Once he was finished, Regulus disapparated without the tiniest sound.

Only to rematerialize in the living room of a perfectly normal muggle house on Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, Surrey. And since he _still_ hadn't found a way to make invisibility spells hold through the process, everyone there saw him appear. "Coast clear?" Bond asked. Vesper was, currently, playing the role of Sandra, so she was at the library, where Harry would probably go after school ended in an hour.

"So far, yes." He sat down on the couch, next to Marius, who'd come over in his capacity as representative of the law. Across from him were James Bond and Daniel "Dan" Reed, the main person in charge of surveillance. He was a senior MI6 agent, which was surprising given the low priority of this assignment. You wouldn't expect him to be essentially babysitting from afar.

The man never complained though. Well, he did, but not because of having the task. He'd requested it after all, wondering what about it made his predecessors ask for a reassignment. He never said why he asked to be allowed to stick to it indefinitely. It was obvious he was growing more and more disturbed and disgusted by the day, not because he felt the job was beneath him, but more for having to sit by and watch his own countrymen being so loathsome to a little boy. It was one thing to know these things, and worse, happened all the time, but another to see it.

As maladjusted as many MI6 agents were, that only went for the _agents_. Security and surveillance division officers were perfectly normal people with sharp minds, emotions and families of their own.

Regulus eyed the brown-eyed middle-aged agent for a while. He was a huge man that made even Marius seem like nothing special, mass and height-wise. His voice had a low timbre and he was built like a tank. He also had short, salt-and-pepper hair and no facial hair to speak of. Basically, he looked like the kind of guy you'd expect to see as a bouncer, not a senior expert in technological spy work. Thinking back to what he read in his file, the man had a wife and two daughters that lived in Cambridge.

He actually hadn't known about the Magical World before he got the job here, but he was briefed soon enough. Regulus had done it himself actually. He insisted in personally approving or rejecting anyone working on this mission. He'd been worried the man's size and record would bring along a high degree of arrogance ad obnoxiousness, but he was proven wrong quickly. It was a relief actually. His prior experience didn't really make it easy to hope for the best.

"That brother if yours sure knows how to sweet talk."

Regulus smirked. Dan didn't know the half of it, but the small part he did perceive was impressive. With just a few sentences, Sirius had endeared himself to the woman and planted the first suspicions in regards to the so-called "good" boys in the neighborhood. Admittedly, they got lucky that the Big D gang chose that day of all days to skip school, but they weren't about to complain.

"So," James cut in, looking at Marius. The monitored discussion at number 6 became background noise. "When will you be moving in with the big guns?"

"Four days from now." Marius answered. "That way, Sirius' and my appearances will be far enough apart that, by the time anyone starts to think it's suspicious for all this 'unusualness' to happen on Privet Drive at the same time, it won't matter."

"And what will you do about that Figg woman?" Dan asked. "Even if she won't think anything of you two, she reports to Albus Dumbledore at least once a month. If she gets wind of the 'investigation' into possible child kidnapping, slavery and abuse by Vernon and Petunia Dursley, she's bound to tell him something."

This was no news. Dan had a whole stack of prints of recorded conversations over the floo. Regulus had installed some bugs as soon as he figured out how to make them impervious to magic, years before. Not that it was required with Arabella Fibb being a squib, but better safe than sorry. The floo _did_ act as a stronger magical conduit than other things after all, and all those half-kneazles didn't help.

"I'll handle her." Regulus said. It wouldn't be that hard either. Just a compulsion charm on each of her cats, and the fireplace, to make her think nothing was worth mentioning about Steven Baron and Marius Black. Normally, Regulus would be worried it wouldn't be enough, but since they already knew nothing disruptive would happen for 2 months, he wasn't worried at all.

And that was assuming she even caught on to their activities. Timing their arrival by car wouldn't be hard. With all those dozens of cats, Figg had a very strict feeding and bathing schedule, and they all knew it by heart. It would be easy enough to sweep in while she was feeding them, do the job, and leave later in the day when she was washing them. Throw a notice-me-not on the car into the mix and voila!

This would allow them to gather evidence of their own in peace, like wizard photos, recorded conversations and scenes, etc. There would be no room for doubt that Harry should be removed and handed to Sirius after all would be said and done. Even in the eyes of self-deluded wizards and witches.

"-. .-"

June 7 1988 was a bit cloudy, with a promise of rain in the afternoon, but it was summer, and even in Britain summer meant short rainfalls. Mr. Grant was fiddling with his TV again, and Mrs. Grant was eating some milk and cookies on the swing on the porch of her house. She'd say she was people watching, if there actually were more than a couple of neighbors occasionally coming out of their homes.

Yes, it was the kind of day that made her wonder if peace and quiet weren't overrated. She'd definitely had a better time than she did in recent times, when that young man had come to visit the other day. It wasn't _exciting_, exactly, but it _was_ a change of routine. She wondered if he'd come again after he bought a property in the area, assuming he moved in at all.

He'd actually walked by earlier and given her a cheerful wave on the way to Number 4. He'd been there for the past hours. Petunia must have started gossiping, alone at home with him as she was, since her son and nephew were at school, and Vernon was at Grunnings, working.

Suddenly, she saw an official looking black car rounding the corner, turning off Magnolia Crescent and up the street. It stopped right on their driveway. Even though they had no car of their own, Number 6 had its own driveway like all the other homes.

Out of the car came two men. One looked to be near her age and was quite tall. He wore a white business suit and carried a chrome briefcase. The other man, with dark hair that had only started to go gray, was a bit taller but much broader. Burly, to say the least. He had a black suit and wore a pair of dark sunglasses that did nothing to lighten the stony look on his face.

Seeing them both make their way to her front door was enough to make her feel wary. Nonetheless, she got to her feet and went to greet them.

"Susan Grant?" the black suited man asked. He towered over her and made her internally shy away despite apparently trying _not_ to seem too intimidating.

"Yes?"

"Dan Reed, UK Special Branch." The man produced a badge that made it seem as though the world had stopped. What on Earth was going on? Why were those men there, and what were they looking for?

"Don't be alarmed, ma'am." The other man spoke. "We're only here to ask a few questions. You and your husband are not the ones being investigated here."

That did relieve her somewhat, but she still felt nervous.

"May we come in?" the gray-haired man asked, not unkindly. "It shouldn't take too long."

Allowing what would clearly become a disruption to her normal life into her house was the last thing she wanted. But it wasn't like she could actually refuse. And a cursory glance around the neighborhood showed that no one else was out, which was odd. Petunia, she could understand. While the woman _did_ tend to crane her neck and look over her fence, she was surely entertaining her guest at the moment. That strapping young man was visiting her today after all.

But where was everyone else?

"Ma'am," the giant of a man drew her attention. "Is there a _particular_ reason why you're so nervous?"

"Oh. No, nothing…" _Except your size, your black car and your countenance, not to mention the creepy sunglasses_ went unsaid. "Come in. I'll get my husband."

"-. .-"

The interrogation started innocently enough, if that term could even apply. Was she familiar with the family at Number 4 Privet Drive? How did she feel about them? Did she think they were a close-knit family? Did she think there was anything odd about them? What was strange about the Potter boy? When had he appeared and how? Was she acquainted with his parents? Had they never come to visit Petunia before their death and Harry's fostering? Why was that? How was he a trouble maker? Why did she think he always bothered the neighbors and other children?

It was unnerving. They just nodded at her every response as the cassette player recorded their conversation. They didn't seem to have an opinion about her answers at all. Perhaps because she only repeated what she'd been told by Petunia, Vernon and everyone else on the block. Beside her, she could feel her husband just as tense as she was.

It went in that fashion for half an hour or so before the solicitor – Marius Black was his name – snapped his yellow folder shut and exchanged it for another one he'd taken out of his briefcase when they'd sat down in the living room, around the knee-height table there.

"Thank you for your answers. You clarified a lot of things for us, and confirmed others. Unfortunately, none of it is good." Marius Black regarded them for a while. "Let me tell you a story."

Mrs. Grant internally cringed. She just _knew_ she wouldn't enjoy what she was about to hear for some reason.

"Harry James Potter was born to James Charlus Potter and Lily Elizabeth Potter _nee_ Evans on July 31, 1980. This was around the time when that terrorist organization was running amok through Britain if you remember." She did remember. As if the Cold War wasn't enough of a concern at the time, there just _had_ to be madmen that conducted murderous raids for no apparent reason too. "James Potter was one of the foremost agents tasked with countering them."

What? But Petunia had said…

And did he say Agent?

"His wife, likewise, was heavily involved in the efforts, albeit not in any official capacity. For those reasons, it can be surmised, they went into hiding as soon as their son was born, as the leader of the terrorist organization had made no secret that, whether as retribution or just out of spite, he had made their newborn son a target. They stayed in hiding until they were tracked down and murdered on Halloween, 1981."

By this point, Susan had gone white. She was barely aware of the arm her husband had wrapped around her.

"On Halloween, 1981, he tracked them down but, from what we were able to gather, got struck down in retaliation, though he took the parents down with him. Only young Harry survived, and this is where things get strange. You see, somehow, before law enforcement even got wind of what had happened, the boy was spirited away from the home, and ended up as the newest tenant of Number 4 Privet Drive a scant day later. Keep in mind that the killings happened on the other side of the country. And yet the lad ended up here so quickly."

He let that sink in for a full minute.

"My god, either the madman wasn't alone and had a henchman that took him away…" Mr. Grant breathed next to her. "Or you think it was somehow set up? You think someone _knew_ it would happen and was prepared to take the boy away and move him here?"

"We're not making any assumptions," Marius Black said noncommittally. "That _is _why we're going through the neighborhood before confronting the Dursleys. This may not be the child we're looking for, and even walking up to their door and investigating them openly could spark enough controversy to destroy a family. We're only looking at facts here. And there are some really disturbing facts you've shared with us. Like how young Harry was only suddenly there on November 1st. You said there was never any delegation from the Child Services department, not regular visits to look into the child's welfare, correct madam? At least none that you remember seeing or hearing about?"

She nodded weakly. That did seem strange, when put like that. Where _did_ Harry come from?

"We've also looked into the history of James and Lily Potter and found some rather disheartening details, such as the fact that Lily Potter and her sister Petunia Dursley never got along after the former got into a private school for the gifted in Scotland, when she was eleven, and the latter did not. Tensions grew over the years, until they had a violent falling out at Lily Potter's wedding and they never spoke to each other again. Indeed, the animosity was quite close to hatred, given testimonies from acquaintances. And yet, strangely, whoever found young Harry dumped him immediately into their care…"

He allowed them to digest that before continuing.

"Now, seeing as how Harry Potter is a person of Interest to Her Majesty's Government, the Special Branch took the liberty of conducting some surveillance on the house and this neighborhood."

The eyes of both the elderly man and woman widened to almost comical proportions. "What? Why would he be? What did his parents do that demanded this? I never realized the problem with that terrorist group was large enough to demand the personal attention of the Crown."

Marius scratched his chin and exchanged a look with the other man. "Normally I wouldn't reveal this, but I wasn't _forbidden_ from doing it. Thing is –and this might have been another reason for them being targeted- James Potter was actually descended from the line of the Duke of Norfolk thought to have gone extinct in the middle ages. That makes Harry Potter a potential Heir Presumptive to the Earl Marshal."

The old couple felt their jaws dropping in unison. "That's impossible! This is madness you're telling us!"

The giant of a man spoke that time. "We can assure you, madam, that it is not impossible at all. True, we'll have to make a blood test, but we are fairly certain of what we will find."

"You understand now, I hope," Marius took over again. "Why this is a sensitive matter. They were even aware of their noble status, I believe, and they had plenty of wealth at their disposal. Now let's summarize. An old, noble family is targeted by a terrorist, both over a grudge and over greed. He succeeds in killing the parents after being led to them by an old friend of theirs who had betrayed them for whatever reason."

Susan was certain her husband was as pale as she was by this point.

"Now, based on our findings, said family friend was the only one left alive after that confrontation, besides little Harry of course. That was late in the evening of October 31. Then, miraculously, Harry James Potter ends up in Petunia Dursley's care less than a day later. What does that tell you? I suppose it _is_ possible that the traitor fled and some third party got involved, but I'll let you decide the chances of that yourselves."

A silence fell, until Susan's husband asked the dreaded question. "This… traitor friend. Was he… acquainted with Petunia?"

Marius nodded grimly. "I fear so. Just like James Potter himself and the other two close friends he and his wife had, Petunia Dursley was acquainted with the man."

"My god…" Susan whispered, horrified. "But why… what would she stand to gain? The money? But if she inherited it by proxy, why live in a simply suburb like this one? And how… was she part of the terrorist group? Was her husband-?"

"Now as I said, we're not making assumptions, and neither should you at this time. We are only going by conjecture after all. Too many theories and we'll forget about the facts, though I admit they do seem to point in rather nefarious directions. As I said before, the Special Branch conducted some surveillance. That means the house had to be bugged, and the results were rather unfortunate. Now, I won't burden you with the details if you wish not to hear them."

"No, we do." She said quickly. "I need to know what kind of people I have for neighbors. My god, and I was looking forward to visiting her on Saturday."

Marius only continued when Mr. Grant shakily nodded his assent. "It seems the reason Harry Potter is so thin and small compared to his cousin is because he hardly gets fed more than a scrap of bread and a glass of water a day. The reason his clothes look poorly thrown on is because he only ever gets the oversized castoffs of his cousin, because, as his Aunt and Uncle often say to his face while literally dragging him around, he is a freak and a burden that doesn't deserve better."

The elderly man and woman were flabbergasted.

"The reason the clothes usually look dirty is because there isn't really any way to perfectly clean the cupboard under the stairs where he sleeps and spends most of his time, when he isn't cooking breakfast, weeding the garden –without protective gloves- or doing other 'chores' set by Petunia and Vernon Dursley."

Now, Mr. and Mrs. Grant were outright horrified. "That… You must be exaggerating." The woman brought a hand to her chest. "People don't actually _do_ that. They never seemed-" But then she stopped, likely remembering all those instances when she saw young Harry and what he looked like. Her recollections fit the new mold of possibilities frighteningly well. "My God. I can't believe people would actually _do_ that. Why would she-? And a _burden_?"

"Yeah," Mr. Grant snorted. "You'd think all the money he came with-" He stopped. "_Unless_ she couldn't get her hands on it and is taking her frustration and hate towards her sister out on her son!"

"Conjecture _could_, indeed, point towards all this." Marius said calmly. "And for all that it sounds horrible, it's not the most important factor here."

"How could it not be? There's more?"

"Well, let's go with your assumption." Marius leaned back in the chair he'd been provided with. "Let's say that yes, Petunia was involved with the murders and arranged to get the child as a way to spite her sister by taking revenge on him, or as a way to get the money of her Husband, or both. Consider this: Harry Potter has been here for 7 years now. And no one thought twice about how odd it was that he just popped out of nowhere. That no Child Service visits, or even the initial placement, ever happened. No one seemed to point out how odd it was that young Harry was placed in her care despite most people here not even _knowing_ Petunia had a sister before her nephew popped up from nowhere. And more, everyone easily believed they were drunks that died in car crash, rather than national heroes and members of a noble line."

Susan Grant blinked. That _did_ sound strange.

"And over the years, no one notices that the lad is malnourished and too short for his age. No one realizes he's the punching bag of the bully gang led by his cousin, whose activities are encouraged by his parents. Everyone thinks Harry is the black sheep instead. Somehow, everyone completely believed and still believes Harry is some sort of evil spawn and has been evil and troublesome since the age of three. All because of Dudley's 'complaints' and, as you called them, Petunia's laments. Now _you_ tell me." Marius leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees. "Just what kind of person would want and would have the _skill_ to brainwash a whole neighborhood into believing all this about a child she should never have gotten a hold of?"

Lord almighty. What kind of manipulating woman was living a house away from them?

"-. .-"

The talk ended with the visitors asking the elderly couple to keep quiet until they made their move on the Dursley household. They were quite willing to oblige, tough they didn't like it much when they were asked not to suddenly change their behavior towards the young lad, since it would result in further ire from his 'family' to compensate for the reprieve.

Marius and Dan left the Grants not long after, when Regulus heated up the protean coin to give them the signal that Figg would be washing her cats and wouldn't see anything happening outside. He didn't hurry after them though. Not because he could reach James' house faster on his own, by apparating, but because he was more than a bit unsettled by what had just happened and didn't feel up to standing close to Marius at the moment.

He'd known, overall, what the point of that visit would be. Marius would visit basically every family in the neighborhood over the next two months, subtly changing their perception of the Dursleys and Harry under the guise of investigating the Potter situation.

Only it turned out that the man was done with subtlety.

He'd not expected Marius' outright vicious half-truths. The man hadn't lied _once_. Everything he'd said happened had really happened, but the way he said it, and the way he omitted other things… It was scary. He'd seen a taste during Sirius' hearing, but Marius had clearly been the justice bringer in that mess. Here, on the other hand, he was ruthlessly arranging for the total destruction of the Dursleys' reputation, in preparation of destroying _them_ just as utterly.

Grandfather Arcturus would have kittens when he showed him the memory later. There would be no _way_ he'd have trouble believing Marius Cygnus Black was any less of a Black than he was after that.

With a thought, Regulus was in James Bond's kitchen, already making his way towards the coffee machine. And all the while, he couldn't miss the irony that it was _Marius_, of all people, not Sirius, that was setting the Dursleys up for the worst fall from grace in recent history.


	18. Chapter 17: Waking Dream

**Well, here it is. I was going to write more, but the chapter would have ended at twice this length, and the wait has already been pretty long.**

**Next installment: Sirius tells a story, Harry panics and Regulus has a run-in with a certain long-bearded man. Hopefully, it won't take ages for me to post it. That said, if anyone feels there hasn't been enough emotion and hugging between Harry and Sirius yet, I just haven't written that far.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Waking Dream  
**

"-. .-"

July 30, 1988 came both too quickly and not quickly enough in Sirius Black's opinion. Not quickly enough because, obviously, he wanted Harry out of that place as fast as possible. Too quickly because he was actually very anxious at finally confronting his godson. That, and there was a certain other person he was going to be confronting before the day was out.

Remus Lupin really had looked miserable during the hearing. It was actually surprising, in hindsight. It was like Remus already knew he was innocent, and was beating himself up over not doing anything about it.

With all the hubbub of the preparations and subterfuge of the past months, however, he didn't have a lot of time to dwell on the memory, or Remus himself really. It was a bit concerning actually, that he could do so many things, and set in motion so many things, without thinking about what was essentially his only best friend still alive. He'd even spent two whole months putting his head on straight without worrying about him too much.

So, as soon as the last week of July rolled around, Sirius, being Sirius, jumped straight into worrying about having forgotten about Moony.

And that lasted the whole five minutes it took for Regulus to ask him what was on his mind. So Sirius told him. At which point Regulus grimaced and pulled out a memory strand and handed it over.

One pensieve and ten minutes later, Sirius was sitting, staring at his brother and blinking, trying to figure out how to react to what he'd seen. Once upon a time, he'd have reacted explosively on his friend's behalf, unless it was the Potters or James that actually gave the dressing down –Peter would not have had the boldness to do anything of the sort. Now, though, Regulus had easily made the list of people who didn't immediately set off his protective tendencies.

Then, of course, there was the fact that Regulus did all that because he was, himself, outraged on his behalf. It drove home just how good his little brother was at dissimulation. Sirius had never even suspected he was carrying that sort of emotional load with him. That he held such mistrust and ire towards the werewolf. He'd never even given the tiniest hint that he was apprehensive about them finally bringing Lupin into the fold.

Sirius thought back to the past four months. Six months for him, four for his brother. At no point was there a debate as to whether or not they should bring Remus into this. It was always something inherently surmised. So instead of bringing up any issues he may have had with the other living marauder, Regulus accepted, from the very start, that Remus would be approached, misgivings or no. And instead of trying to persuade Sirius against the idea (which, Sirius mused wryly, he might have actually managed to do), he took the opposite route and did what he could to ensure Sirius' affection and trust in the man wouldn't come back to bite him in the behind later.

But Merlin, the way he went about it was brutal. In a way, it was heartwarming that he'd go so far for him. But on the other hand, it made Sirius' stomach twist. Somehow, he felt that family, that _love_ shouldn't be able to, shouldn't be used as an _excuse_, to drive people to do such things. To become borderline _cruel_. It cheapened the feeling somehow.

"Well…" Sirius finally said, looking rather wide-eyed at the brother that only broadcasted a _tiny_ bit of nervousness. He wouldn't even have seen it if he hadn't come to know his brother so well. "At least I know what areas I'll have to perform damage control in."

"-. .-"

It was ten minutes to 00:00 when an untraceable portkey got them inside the Ministry Atrium. The crowd of chattering people and press agents had lingered there, despite the hour, in the hopes that they would be able to catch a glimpse and maybe ask some questions of the now notorious Sirius Black, once he left the ministry.

It was a barely organized chaos that served well in distracting everyone from their arrival. Regulus made sure to render them both invisible, not just disillusioned, as soon as they materialized.

It would have made it impossible to keep track of one another, but Regulus solved that by joining hands with his brother and following the signal of the tracking charm he'd placed on Remus Lupin during the hearing. Careful not to jostle anyone, and adding a notice-me-not on top of the invisibility for extra insurance, they reached the elevator and huddled near a corner while it moved down.

They exited once they were a floor below the one where Amelia Bones' office was located. Just on time too.

00:00 became 00:01.

Which was when something exploded far below and shook the entire ministry. Hard.

Sirius thought it was really amusing how people started panicking everywhere. It was also a bit troublesome though, because with everyone running around it was hard to avoid being bowled over. His brother had ever so foresightedly jumped up and was now standing upside-down on the ceiling, the cheap bastard.

A particularly fat wizard tried to run past a few others and caused a group tumble. Unfortunately, he didn't fall like the rest. Instead, he smashed head-first into Sirius' chest. Lord Black was hard-pressed to _not_ release an indiscriminate wave of lightning. As it was, he had to console himself with cursing up a storm. Fortunately, with everyone running like headless chickens, they didn't notice the disembodied voice.

At some point, he felt himself lifted in the air, then glued to the wall through a sticking charm. Sirius was particularly annoyed at the smug expression he was _sure_ Regulus had on. At least the bastard was still invisible. Saved him actually having to _see_ the look on his face.

A part of Sirius' mind wondered how his brother could see him. Maybe he had those goggles of his enchanted to see through the spells he cast or something.

Some time later, the MLEP (Magical Law Enforcement Patrol) finally managed to gain control of the crowd (and Sirius couldn't' help but feel their reaction time was a bit slow, just like the populace's reaction was overblown). Ironically, it turned out that, with the MOM in lockdown, the best option was actually sitting tight _inside_ the cafeteria they were all trying to escape from.

Once the coast was clear, more or less, Amelia Bones herself had made her way there to check on things, or for whatever other reason. By that time, Sirius had canceled the spells on himself and hopped back to the floor (which Regulus had thoughtfully cushioned in advance). He was just behind Amelia now. "Man, I missed this sort of excitement!"

Bones whirled around and pointed her wand at him. "Black!" She hissed. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay in my office!"

Sirius blinked. "And you actually expected me to do that? Keep in mind that today I am here on legal, personal business, so technically I'm not on duty, so you can't exactly pull rank even though I _did_ point out I'm still, technically, a Hit Wizard."

Amelia sighed and closed her eyes. Obviously, she didn't want to deal with him right then. "Fine! But at least stay in there with everyone else until we've sorted this mess out."

"No problem! That's what I was going to do anyway! You realize how much time I just spent without eating or drinking anything, right? Expecting me to languish in that boring office of yours is just cruel!"

After a little more playful banter (painful for Amelia), Sirius strolled in the cafeteria, seemingly oblivious to the way everyone, dozens of people, were openly staring at him. Clearly, they noticed how much more healthy and cheerful he looked, and how much fancier his clothes were. Sirius hadn't dressed like a Lord, exactly, but he wasn't wearing drab either.

Amelia would probably take a while to get down from the adrenaline high that made her overlook his change in appearance.

Among the few people that didn't stare at him, whether because they were interested in their food or because they didn't notice him right away, was Remus John Lupin. The werewolf was slouched in a chair, at a table near the corner, nursing a cup of coffee and looking just as pitiful as he did during the trial.

The previous day, Sirius had thought "long" and hard about how to treat this encounter… for a full five minutes before he reached the conclusion that he'd probably be better off winging it.

So, trusting that Regulus would have his back from where he sensed him, walking upside-down on the ceiling, he threw caution into the wind and pulled out his wand. He didn't need to look behind him to know people had tensed.

Then he promptly vanished the chair Remus was sitting on.

"Wha-!" The werewolf crashed on the marble floor with a hard thud. The cup of hot coffee he had in his hands spilled over his chest making him hiss. Biting back a groan, he rolled over and climbed to his feet, only to freeze with his mouth half-open when he saw who it had been that had done that to him.

"That was for not believing in me." Sirius said blandly as he put his wand away. Then he closed the distance and grabbed his friend by the front of his shabby shirt. "And this is for all the other times you did."

Whatever Remus must have been expecting, getting a hug in public couldn't have been it, given the way he tensed.

But soon enough he eased into the embrace and returned it with all he had, caring about the scene they were causing just as much as Sirius did.

Which was not at all.

"-. .-"

Sirius didn't really know how long it would take for the lockdown to be lifted, but he assumed (and hoped) it wouldn't take too long. He and his brother had someplace to be at 03:00. Sure, they could just bypass the portkey wards, but he wasn't looking to kick up an even bigger cloud of dust than he had already.

Fortunately, it was lifted at 02:00, so everyone was finally allowed to leave. Not that people were all that eager. At least the journalists weren't. Once everyone was assured that _no_, this wasn't the Dark Lord's or his Death Eaters' retaliation for the public destruction of his wand, they thought it was exciting that whatever it was (officially, it was a DOM experiment gone wrong) happened so soon after the awesome court spectacle. Sirius was lucky that only one reporter ended up in the cafeteria, and he managed to hide from him easily enough, though it did take the best privacy spells he knew, with two of Moony's thrown in for good measure.

He still had to finish the paperwork he and Amelia still had though. The custody eligibility papers were already prepared. They'd been ready for four months from his perspective actually, though just a few hours from Amelia's. Now all that was left was for all the… "unsuitability" evidence to be filed in regards to the Dursleys. "Lord Black" had already arranged with her that he would bring the necessary wizarding photos and healer reports, as well as recordings made with Omnioculars. He'd even stealthily cast some nice truth compulsion charms on their cups once, while having tee on the backyard porch, and asked about their nephew.

That meant Amelia would only have to drop by later in the day, once, to give her the alibi that the evidence had come from her department's investigations, rather than the "illegal" surveillance conducted by House Black.

The involvement of the British secret service would not be mentioned anywhere, although the Muggle Child Services definitely would be. It would be a kick in the balls for Magical Britain to learn that the _muggles_ were more proactive and effective as far as the protection of Harry Potter went than they were.

When everything was finished, Amelia thankfully allowed him to use the floo in her office instead of having to be escorted and gawked at, maybe mobbed even, on the way to the Atrium. He joyfully thanked her, and made sure to _not_ cast aside glances in the direction where Regulus had invisibly kept an eye on things the entire time. Besides, he didn't want to broadcast his ability to hold an all-purpose revealing charm permanently active.

It was a Slytherin thing to do, sure, but with everything Regulus did he was finally getting over his hatred of all things Slytherin. Were she alive, Lily would probably say it was about time, or something along those lines. He wouldn't even be able to hide behind James if that happened, because James had long since admitted, though grudgingly, that some Slytherin values could be useful. He and Lily wouldn't have "funded" the Order of the Phoenix the way they had otherwise. And they wouldn't have managed to fool Dumbledore and the rest into thinking it was all being done through legitimate means either.

Legitimate. Ha! If the goblins found out what they did, there would be another rebellion.

For that matter, none of what he'd done to get himself out of jail and Harry out of Privet Drive could be considered legitimate. Or even in the least legal.

The floo deposited him in the Leaky Cauldron. Amelia would probably assume he'd be heading to the ever open Gringotts. All the better.

Before the few people present in the pub even had the chance to look in the direction of the floo, he had tracelessly disapparated.

Less than a second later, he was once again in the living room in a certain house on Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, Surrey. A few moments after he appeared, Regulus also materialized a few feet away. To their credit, Bond and his wife didn't jump or seem in any other way startled.

Ted and Andromeda Tonks were also there. Only Marius was absent. He was getting some well deserved rest. The man had basically been cut off from his wife for the past two months, and he'd have to spend another two in a similar manner once they turned the time again on August 1. So, since he'd gone back in time the previous day, he had one day and a half to spend with his wife before he did it again. Sirius would have taken her along, but the limit was three people, not counting Harry himself (he was small enough for the turner to handle as extra load, Croaker had assured him). And they'd all decided that this would be the last time travel they'd do for a while, since all the different instances of them were getting hard to keep track of.

And Sirius was sure someone would eventually say something about how it's not okay to keep "living in the past" as it were.

They would have done the jump as soon as Harry was free of those… people. They didn't like that they had to dump all the "Magic is Real" thing on him without any sort of preparation, but allowances had to be made.

It would probably get troublesome. Dumbledore was sure to suspect what was happening, and while he couldn't know that they'd basically been getting ready for this for months, he could very well show up before Harry's Birthday was over. Sure, he would be detained at the DMLE for questioning for a while, but Sirius didn't doubt he would manage to get away for a time to make sure things were still "as they should be."

Fortunately, they had contingencies in place for that.

"Everything go well?" Andromeda asked.

"Swimmingly," Sirius chimed as he sunk in an armchair. "Remus has agreed to meet with me two days from now, to 'do something about Harry.' Naturally, he thinks we'd only just be starting on getting him out. I told him he could even tell Dumbledore as much if the old man asked, though chances are low. Apparently, old Moony and Albus exchanged some rather heated words during my hearing. If I know Albus, and I do, he'll let Remus cool off for a day or two before contacting him with Phoenix-delivered letter. The letter would outwardly sound apologetic, but would have more than enough allusions to the past to make Remus feel guilty over 'losing his cool' in front of the person he owes so much. And the method of delivery would 'remind' Remus that he was the 'good' guy in this mess. After all, only good guys have Phoenix familiars."

"Which, naturally, isn't exactly true." Regulus said from where he was standing and looking out the window. "The role of phoenixes is much more sophisticated than that, yet their presence is not as reassuring as people think. But we don't have time for this discussion right now." He faced the two healers. "Everything ready?"

"Yes. We have everything. You just need to do your part."

And that part was to soundlessly apparate into Number 4 Privet Drive and cast sleeping spells on the Dursleys.

"Here we go then." The wizard disappeared.

Only to reappear two minutes later. "Done. Sirius with me. Andromeda and Ted, you know what to do." Without further ado, he grabbed Sirius by the arm and transported them both in the hallways of the house, right in front of Harry's cupboard. It turned Sirius' stomach every time he thought about it. There was _nothing_ right about that being called _Harry's_ _cupboard_.

With moves that clearly showed he'd done this all before, Regulus spelled the floor, the hinges and the locks silent. That done, he made the door open with a quick alohomora. It was the first time Sirius actually _saw_ Harry sleeping on that dilapidated mattress, and it made him feel ill. Not because it was all that dirty in there (thankfully, it wasn't), but because Harry actually looked… well… peaceful if it could even be called that. No doubt it was because he'd received his first ever present, not counting those prior to his orphaning. And it was from a total stranger too.

A nudge in his elbow brought him out of his thoughts. Regulus pointedly motioned with his head in Harry's direction. Sirius shook his head to clear it. Right. This _was_ the whole reason he insisted on being present for this. Since he had no place in the magical procedure that was about to take place, all he _could_ do was move Harry to and from the assigned spot.

Crouching, he slowly pushed the blanket away and tried not to think about how thin Harry looked compared to the castoff pajamas he had on him. He was even more careful when he picked him up, despite knowing that the sleeping charm would keep him under even if he dropped him on his head.

Once he was back on his feet, he took a few moments to contemplate that this was the first actual physical contact he'd had with Harry in 7 years.

"Sirius." Regulus whispered. Then he glanced upwards and disappeared.

So the older wizard disapparated as well, reappearing in the attic that had already been magically expanded and lit. He materialized just outside the arcane circle that took up most of the area. He was thankful that Andromeda and Ted were still setting up the medical chair and pretty much everything else that could be needed for the procedure. It looked like they'd set up a whole healer's office actually. It was a bit overkill really, since they only had to unravel the compulsion (Regulus would do that) and then peel off the skin from Harry's forehead, undo the etching Ted had done in the skull, and heal the flesh and skin back into place.

The godfather didn't really mind. Any extra second he had to hold Harry was a good second, even if it _did_ show clearly that the kid was too light for his age. Well, that would be fixed in time, along with everything else.

Finally, everything was in place and Andromeda came over. "Come set him on the chair Sirius. We'll take it from there."

Sirius didn't really want to put Harry down, but he didn't show it. He told himself he'd have plenty of opportunities later. Or earlier, since it would happen retroactively.

Whatever.

Once Harry was situated and essentially tied to the chair, Sirius moved back outside the circle to wait. He didn't sit down on the conjured seat, and noted that Regulus, who stood beside him, didn't either.

And as he beheld the process, he could only curse Voldemort in him mind for making it all necessary.

Hours later, he would, for the last time, apply his glamors. Dark hair, black eyes, and the best-looking goatee Harry had ever seen. Well, building that image had been the initial goal, besides making sure Petunia wouldn't recognize him. Sadly, Regulus, the asshole, made sure to mention _only_ _weeks later_, though not in those exact words, that the black hair and eyes made him look, after a fashion, like a certain greasy git.

Sirius had spent the rest of the day alternating between horror at the resemblance and horror at having to maintain that resemblance for another month.

In the end, he found he could do nothing to console himself besides doubling the frequency of his showers.

"-. .-"

The last two months had been just the tiniest bit worse than usual for Harry Potter. Although if anyone was watching, they wouldn't think the same. The place where he slept hadn't changed. The amount of food he got, scarce as it was, hadn't changed. His chores were just as many and time-consuming as ever, so there wasn't much of a change on that front either. And the gang of bullies led by his cousin was just as prone towards picking on him as they'd always been.

Verily, there might even be enough cause to say his life had gotten better, as his vocabulary had improved dramatically from his constant forays to the public library.

Nevertheless, if anyone would have bothered to ask Harry himself, and if he were actually inclined to be honest with himself (and the one asking the question), the answer would be that his life had become just that tiniest bit harder. And it was all because of that newcomer, Steven Baron, who visited the neighbors and their own house on several occasions. Although he wasn't exactly a newcomer, not yet. From what Harry had overheard while weeding, or performing whatever other chore he got to keep him out of sight and out of mind, he was scouting out the neighborhood in preparation of moving in.

That man made Harry uneasy.

And it wasn't because of how he seemed to stalk him when he wasn't looking. Sure, it was a bit creepy, that he seemed to study him so often. Once, when going to the bathroom, Harry had found him in the hallway, staring at his cupboard and frowning. The man noticed him quickly though, smiled (though it was a strange smile, with no joy in it at all) and "returned from using the loo" to where his aunt and uncle were, in the living room.

Another time, Harry was mowing the lawn in the back yard and spotted the man looking at him through the kitchen window, only he had a weird pair of glasses on. Or were they goggles? He wasn't really sure. The man acted as if he was getting himself a glass of water, but he wasn't quick enough to hide those things.

And those were just two instances, and Harry eventually started to ignore the newcomer, even though he always felt like he was being watched when Mr. Baron came over.

But still, that wasn't why Harry saw the man as a reason to feel his life had gotten worse. It was his eyes. Sure, the man looked great, with his long black hair, black eyes and the best-looking goatee Harry had ever seen, but it was those eyes that he hated to see. They were kind, too kind at first, but they'd started to become overtaken by a frown whenever it came to him. And Harry _knew_ that if the man moved into the neighborhood, it would only be a matter of time before those eyes turned suspicious, then disdainful and dismissive. Soon enough, the nice man would come to think of him the same way everyone else in the neighborhood and at school did.

A troublesome little delinquent. A freak and a burden that should have died in the car crash that killed his father –the unemployed drunk- and his mother –the useless bitch, as aunt Marge liked to say whenever she came over. Harry didn't really believe any of that, at least not about his mother. Not with all the nightmares and dreams he'd been having as far back as he could remember. Not with the feelings he sometimes got whenever things got hard. Like a hug that wasn't really a hug at all.

Thankfully, uncle Vernon's sister hadn't come by in a while. If she'd dropped by and met Mr. Baron, she'd have made him think of him like everyone else did even sooner.

Stars knew Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were doing a great job of that on their own. And as baffling as it looked and sounded like, they'd openly expressed, over tea one time, how much of a nuisance their little freak of a nephew was –in those exact words- and how much trouble he caused –usually they recounted things Dudley and his gang did and blamed on him afterwards.

Harry had been putting things in order in the shed –quietly, as instructed by Uncle Vernon- while that discussion was happening. He'd started on it before Mr. Baron came over, and it was a surprise visit so his relatives didn't have the chance to order him to get into the cupboard and lie still, making absolutely no noise and pretending he didn't exist. He finished before they were done actually, and made his way inside the house without looking in their direction, or even anywhere higher than his feet. He'd long since gone past the point where he bothered crying, but sometimes he wished…

Harry shut his eyes and counted back from 10. Really, he should stop always going down that mental road. It was supposed to be a happy day. July 31, 1988. His birthday. He looked at the electric clock that showed 07:47. He'd been awake since 5, and he didn't know why. Unlike previous birthdays, he didn't have those nightmares that started out as dreams come true and ended up with everything ruined, each time as bad as the last. If anything, he felt better than he ever felt after sleep. And something was different too, though he didn't know what.

With a quiet sigh, he looked up again from where he was lying on his mattress. The star map he'd gotten from Sandy the Librarian was where he'd put it, right above him. He could barely see it and the stars on it, with the light that peeked in through the cracks in the door being weak as it was. But he didn't want to turn on the light bulb, because it would reveal the lines and creases on it. He regretted, now, that he'd folded it when he'd brought it in, the previous day, only to find out it had been unnecessary. If only he'd sneaked a peek inside first…

Now it was ruined. His first ever present and he ruined it less than 10 minutes after receiving it.

Harry shook his head again. Really! What was wrong with him? He'd just said this was supposed to be a _happy_ day, but he kept wallowing… Maybe his Aunt and Uncle had a point-

Which was when the doorbell rung clearly through the quiet house. Harry flinched so hard he almost bumped his head against the shelf right above him. Only years of being woken by his aunt's raps on the door prevented him from crying out, startled as he was.

07:59 became 08:00.

Weird, he thought between heavy breaths. The doorbell had sounded several times louder than it should have.

Then it rung again, and when seconds passed without any response from upstairs, someone started to knock on the door very loudly.

"Alright alright, I'm coming down!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from above. Sure enough, his heavy, meaty stomps echoed through the house like the hits on the door did just moments earlier. "Who in blazes could it be at this time in the morning?"

Well, that was an odd thing to ask, Harry thought. It wasn't _that_ early. Then again, his uncle had the day off today, since he was going to meet that representative later in the evening, and he and his aunt always did like to sleep in on those occasions. Harry actually didn't mind much. He liked it when he didn't get woken up at 6:30 to start breakfast.

Although today was a moot point, seeing as how he'd inexplicably woken earlier than even _that_, and felt more rested than ever.

The heavy thuds of Vernon's footsteps sounded through the wood above him, and Harry hid his face beneath his blanket, counting down, with practiced ease, the seconds it took for the dislodged dust to fall. He wondered where all that dust came from. No matter how thoroughly he cleaned his cupboard, there was always some that made it through. The star map was bound to help prevent the worst of it, but there was still space around it.

The doorbell rang one more time, making Vernon growl. "This had better be important or so help me I'll…" The lock was undone and Harry heard the door swing open.

Then there was silence.

"Mr. Vernon Dursley?"

Harry slowly, very slowly and silently, sat up and leaned close to the cupboard door. The narrow space between the hinges and the framework didn't let him see much, but he could hear just fine. And that voice was one he'd never heard before.

"Yes," Vernon said, distinctly wary. "Who are you? Whatever you're selling, we're not interested, especially at this hour in the morning."

"We're not selling anything, Mr. Dursley." That was a different voice. Not as low as the first, but blander. A woman's, Harry noted. "Although we _are_ here to… show you certain things. And before you reiterate your lack of interest, let me assure you that you don't exactly have a choice. Unless you intend to force us out?"

Harry clearly heard Vernon sputter something. "What are you bothering us hardworking folk for?"

"That's something we'll explain as soon as your wife and son come down," the first, strong voice said again. "So please call them down from where they're listening at the top of the stairs. Unless you'd rather we do it? We assure you, nothing… unlawful is going to happen."

Much to Harry's surprise, Vernon didn't start blustering again. And fortunately for him, he didn't have to put in the effort to go back up the stairs either. Petunia's footsteps made themselves heard, and the ensuing stomps revealed Dudley's descent from the second floor as well. Though the boy did make it a point to whine, squeal really, his displeasure at being so rudely woken up on the morning. Obviously, his aunt was eavesdropping as was her wont.

Soon enough, everyone had walked into the living room or lingered in the hallway. Harry could see some of them because of that.

"Right. Now that's we're all here, allow me to introduce myself." The first voice said. Harry heard some ruffling, then Vernon and Petunia's sharp intakes of breath at a badge being flashed in their faces. "Daniel Reed, Child Services."

Harry's breath stilled.

The man went on when no reaction beside a general freeze-up followed. "These are my colleagues. Beside me is Amelia Bones, and the one hiding behind me in anticipation of seeing your upcoming shock is one you know by his current alias Steven Baron." Harry's eyes felt like they were about to bust out as the voice took on a darkly amused tinge. "I'm sure you're familiar with him?"

Air suddenly seemed… hard to come by, and it took Harry's entire concentration to think past the raising heartbeats. A familiar man made himself seen. Small in comparison to the human that had led the charge, but still tall compared to most.

"What…" Vernon floundered, in that tone that always accompanies his face's change from puce to purple. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Come now, you _must_ have guessed why we're here," Mr. Reed said. "I can call the two police officers inside if it will help paint a clearer picture? Though I can't imagine you'd want to speed up your arrest."

"Arrest?" Petunia said faintly.

"Right!" Vernon shouted. "This prank has gone long enough young man!" Harry noticed he was addressing Mr. Baron. His two chins flopped as his short, round frame shook with nerves. "I don't know who you think you are, but as far as practical jokes go, this is among the worst I've ever seen. I don't know where you and your ruffian friends get off barging into random homes and bullying the residents-"

"-Vernon-"

"-but if you think you can just make fun of us honest-working folk, you've-"

"Vernon!" His aunt shrieked. Harry assumed she'd indicated the people that produced the two new shadows that came through the door.

His uncle turned from purple to white so fast that Harry wondered if he'd become ill.

"You know," Mr. Baron said, in an amused tone that sent chills down Harry's spine. "I _did_ originally intend for this to start out as a pseudo-amusing confrontation. Where we would let you think we were here only to talk about how you're setting up your son Dudley for a heart condition that would kill him before he turned forty, given his weight and the way you've been feeding him."

No one said anything, and Harry's head ducked in dismay. He'd actually believed they were there for _him_ for a moment. Maybe his aunt and uncle were right about him being stupid-

"But I don't really think I can draw amusement from that now that I see you intend to act as though you don't have a significantly skinnier boy huddled in that cupboard under the stairs over there."

Harry's head shot up at that, and he suddenly didn't care that he could make noise while pressing against the door. He just wanted to get as clear a view of him as possible, even if he wasn't in the line of sight of the crack in the wall.

"So let me just say that you'll finally get your wish." Mr. Baron continued, sounding distinctly unappeased. "After today, you won't have to worry about your nephew. Congratulations! It only took seven years of mistreatment for you to get what you wanted."

Harry was young, but he was no stranger to sarcasm. And he could see that his aunt and uncle were petrified by the sight of the policemen at the door.

One of the officers moved in. "Vernon and Petunia Dursley?" He recited neutrally, bringing out a pair of handcuffs. "You are under arrest for negligence, child endangerment, child abuse, suspected child kidnapping and suspected collaboration with terrorists." Both adults gawked at the last two, but the policeman didn't care. If anything, he was glad the shock froze them enough for him to have no trouble handcuffing them. "Pending the investigation, your son will be placed with Marge Dursley as the closest living relative, or a foster home if she is found unsuitable. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"You… you-you can't do this!" Petunia shrieked. "We've done nothing wrong! What do you mean terrorists?"

"This is about the freak isn't it!" Vernon bellowed as he was dragged away. He put up quite a fight, until Mr. Reed decided to grab him by the collar of the bath robe he wore over his pajamas and shove him forward. "I knew it! I _told_ Petunia we should have dumped him at an orphanage, no matter what that old crackpot said! You won't get away with this! I'll get my solicitor to-" the diatribe became impossible to decipher once Vernon was out the door. Petunia was forced to follow and a policeman led Dudley out the door in their wake.

"And don't worry about that business meeting tonight!" Mr. Baron cheerfully called after them. "We'll be sure to tell the company representatives _exactly_ why you couldn't make it! Just like we notified Grunnings of the situation just before we came over!"

Harry distantly heard the sounds of car doors being shut before the automobile drove away.

Silence fell over Number 4 privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

"You know, I'm disappointed," Mr. Baron said. "I'd have thought Petunia would put two and two together and start raving about us being with _them_ before they dragged her off."

There was a pause.

Then the woman finally spoke for the second time. Her voice was hard, in the way that the school headmistress talked when scolding unruly kids, usually Harry even if it was undeserved. "Suspected child kidnapping and collaboration with terrorists?"

"Long story," the man waved her off. "I'll show you the memory later."

Sow a memory? What did he mean? What on earth was going on? His aunt and uncle terrorists?

Any question Harry had instantly disappeared when the person made his way over to his cupboard. The sound of a lock being unfastened made the boy's heart race even faster than it already did. Finally, he could actually ask himself… was all this really happening?

And then dread settled on him again. What was going to happen to him? All his life he'd dreamed of someone coming to claim him, some lost relative, but the man wasn't… Was he going to go to an orphanage? His uncle always said he should be grateful he didn't end up in one. The horror stories about those places stopped him from sleeping for days whenever Vernon told them.

But then… Mr. Baron didn't seem so bad? Or was he here to ask about whatever terrorist activities his relatives were supposedly involved in? He didn't know anything!

The lock was undone, and the cupboard door swung open to reveal the man Harry had come to like and fear at the same time. Trying to look less scared than he was, Harry looked up.

"Hey there little guy." The voice was reassuring and warm, completely different from the borderline gleeful tone he'd used when seeing his relatives off.

"H… hello?"

The man got on one knee. "You're looking mighty cramped in there." He extended a hand. "Come on." His face was serious, with none of the playfulness left. "From now on you'll never have to live your days in such a place again."

The boy didn't move at first, mostly because he couldn't believe what was happening, or know what to feel about it.

But seconds trickled by, and the man stayed that way, with his hand extended. His eyes inviting and encouraging.

Really. What else could he do but accept it?

Hesitantly, he accepted the proffered hand. The man gripped it, not too tight and not too loosely, and backed out from the door, allowing him to crawl out at his own pace. Soon, he was out in the hallway, blinking the yellow spots cause by the difference in light. Once he could see properly, he looked where he knew the other two people were. He forgot about the hand he was still holding. Actually he didn't even realize he'd grabbed onto it with both hands.

All he was aware of was that he looked up… and up and up and up until his eyes finally reached the face of that huge man.

Later, he would probably slap himself for gawking and staring like that, but at the moment all he could think of and say was. "Whoa, you're big."

Silence.

The huge, monster of a man raised a single eyebrow. "And you're a small and skinny shrimp whose hair looks like a crow's nest."

"Hey!" Harry's indignation made itself heard before his brain caught up to him. Belatedly, he realized just who he'd yelled at. Mortified, Harry ducked his head and tried to hide behind the closest "object" nearby… which just so happened to be Mr. Baron.

"Now now," Mr. Baron tapped him on the head. It felt… nice, although a bit unusual. "Your size is nothing that a good, balanced diet won't fix. Although your hair is a hopeless case I'm afraid." The man ruffled it for emphasis. "You got it from your dad."

The world tilted, bent at an angle, then snapped back into place when Harry realized what those words had been. His head shot back up so fast that he felt dizzy, but he didn't care. He just wanted some reassurance that he hadn't just heard things. _You knew my parents?_ Was on the tip of his tongue, and all over his face… but he couldn't bring himself to ask it. He was terrified, and not just of the possibility that he'd say no, you just heard things. We was scared he'd actually confirm what his relatives had said about them-

"Yes, I knew your parents." The man said, as though he'd read his mind. "And no, they weren't anything like your aunt and uncle said. Those were all lies, you can be sure of that."

Harry opened his mouth a few times, but didn't know what to say. _Really?_ Would just sound stupid and needy.

Fortunately, he didn't need to speak up because the woman did. "You should go ahead and explain everything, Mr. 'Baron'." She drew out the name for some reason. "I'll go back to the office to file the necessary papers. I've no doubt he'll agree."

Mr. Baron nodded while the big man – Mr. Reed – addressed him and pocketed the badge he still held loosely in his hand. "I'll keep an eye on the area until you're ready to go. Do what you're here for."

"I'll see you two later then." Baron shook hands with both. "Thanks for everything." Then he turned to the still confused boy. "Walk with me, Harry."

As if that request wasn't unexpected enough, the man headed for the _back _door instead of the front one. Harry would have asked what was going on, but he figured he'd find out soon enough, seeing as how the man had a hand draped over his shoulders, steering him alongside.

Their path led them to the back yard, then past the flowers, and through a missing section in the fence that wasn't there the previous day. The loose boards he used to sneak in or out when fleeing from the bully gang were completely gone, allowing easy passage even to the man's considerably larger frame. The two were soon walking through the thicket behind the row of houses, the forest side of the main neighborhood park. The man had removed his hand from his shoulder, and Harry was torn between feeling glad and upset that he was out from under the unfamiliar contact.

"I'm sure you've realized where we're going."

Harry hesitantly glanced up before looking back down again and nodding once. He knew the way led to the park.

"Now I'm going to want you to confirm something for me, if that's okay?"

"…Okay…"

"Okay." There was a lull in the conversation. "Over the course of your life, you made things move on their own on over two dozen occasions, caused things or people's hair to change color at least as many times, made things change size four times, regrew your hair overnight on two occasions, made yourself unnoticed while being hunted by the neighborhood bullies a couple of times and..."

Harry had stopped walking the moment the words "move on their own" came out of his mouth, and Mr. Baron stopped in his tracks just a few moments later, never slowing down in listing all those strange things.

"…and even managed to teleport on one occasion. To the roof of your school if I'm not mistaken."

Harry was petrified. The man knew exactly how weird he was. Even more than his _relatives_. All at once his thoughts and emotions churned ad bubbled inside him, from the fear and terror of having another person look at him with contempt, realizing what a _freak _he was… to the hope, dim as it was, that maybe this once… it would be a bad thing?

It was confusing, terrifying and overwhelming. So much that the only thing that came out of the boy's mouth was. "Two."

"Eh? Two?" The man sounded genuinely puzzled.

Harry shuffled in his spot, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his sandal. "It was on two occasions." He looked around, everywhere _but_ at the man he was talking too. "I teleported twice. Once to the roof of the school, and once to my cupboard when I was hiding in a tree after running from Ripper." He didn't really see a point in hiding any of it at this point. "That's aunt Marge's dog." More of a pause. "And uh… I'm pretty sure I bounced that one time? And even floated once?"

There was a long silence. Long and hard. Were it night, there would have been ample time for crickets to think the coast was clear and start trilling. All over the place.

Uncomfortable with the quiet, Harry dared meet the man's gaze, since he could _feel_ that stare on him. "I guess I should go back now?" Forgetting that his relative had just been arrested and there was, technically, nothing to go back _to_. Well, except his star map. His Star Map! He'd forgotten about it! He couldn't just leave it behind, could he?

"Hey hey!" That snapped him from his emerging panic that he didn't even feel rising. Mr. Baron must have mistaken it for something else. "Sorry. I'm just… surprised. I thought it would be a lot harder to get you to talk about it…"

"Oh." Harry stuffed his hands into the oversized pockets of his pajamas. "Well you seemed to know about the freaky happenings anyway so-"

"They're not freaky."

Harry's jaw clamped shut.

So the man walked closer, pretty… what was the word? Resolutely? And reached forward. Harry tensed, not knowing what to expect.

And plucked his glasses off his nose. "Now, this won't do." The man tsked, looking at the duct tape that held those things together. Mr. Baron crouched in front of him and held the glasses at eye level, waiting until Harry met his gaze.

Then slowly, very deliberately, moved his palm over the spectacles.

The duct tape came off with a ripping sound, the glass poofed into perfection, small scratched dispersing into dust that was gone a moment later, and the frame mended until it looked like the glasses were brand new.

Harry gaped in astonishment, staring wide-eyed from the glasses to the man's grinning face, and back to the glasses, then to his face, and back and forth.

Carefully, Mr. Baron put the glasses back on his face. "Now, I'm not as great at wandless magic as some people." Harry mouthed silently, stupefied. The nerve of the guy, talking about magic as it was an everyday occurrence-wait! Magic was real? "But when it comes to wanded spells." The man flicked his wrist-Oh god, it_ was_! "I dare say that…" A wave of it, and Harry stilled when he felt his clothes move and _change_. "… I'm none too shabby." Looking down, Harry couldn't believe his eyes. His castoff pajamas had turned into a green shirt and dark red slacks. Perfectly sized. He hadn't even gotten to the part where he realized it would be inappropriate to go to the park with the same clothes he slept in, and now he wouldn't have to.

Wait, what was he thinking?! That stranger had done magic on him and _that _was what he was worried about? Maybe his relatives was right and there _was_ something wrong with him-

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his self-deprecating bafflement. "Now, think you're good enough to resume walking kid?"

A jerky nod was all he could force out. It was a good thing walking didn't really require much concentration, because he didn't have much left after… after…

"But first, I think it's time we _really_ introduced ourselves to each other." The man stood to his full height but did nothing. Harry supposed he was waiting for something again, so he forced himself to meet his eyes as he did before. The expectant look on the man's face melted into something else. Something that made Harry's stomach flip over.

And the sensation gave way to shock once more when the man waved that stick –a _wand_- over his face. The hair stayed black, but became wavier, curly even. His facial hair became a bit sharper and rougher. But the biggest change was in his eyes. They black gave way to silver. "My real name, young sir, is Sirius Orion Black, and I'm a wizard."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. An even mixture of hope and dread overcame his awareness as he remembered a wish he'd made the previous night, and the star he'd made it on. The rush was so fast that he didn't even register the flamboyance of the man's countenance.

"You know, the polite thing would be to introduce yourself as well." Harry's blinked owlishly, not understanding the teasing frown for what it was. "That's okay. Well, not okay, but understandable, given your _lack _of upbringing at the hands of those _freaks_ that call themselves your relatives."

The boy's muscles tensed at the sound of that word.

"Harry." His head snapped up again. "Are you alright?" That question carried definite concern, but it broke the balance Harry had in him. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been split between thinking this was real and this was a dream.

His dreams never ended well, no matter how well they started. But the clincher was that his dreams never started out _this_ well before. God, it was happening again, wasn't it?

"Now come on." The man –Sirius- draped an arm over him again as he nudged him forward, towards the parc. "It's about time someone gave you some answers, and while I'm afraid things will get a bit worse before they get better, I can promise you that they _will_ get better, okay?"

Harry didn't answer either way. He just followed his lead. Did as he was told, as always. And as his feet placed more distance between himself and his last refuge, the _cupboard_ that always protected him from everything, he thought, like so many times before, that it was nice to pretend, even if just for a little while.

Soon enough, he'd be back in that cupboard, hiding and waiting to wake up.

If he got lucky that was.


	19. Chapter 18: Escape from One's Refuge

**Chapter 18: Escape from One's Refuge**

"-. .-"

Grey-blue eyes watched as a man and a boy emerged from the out-of-the-way path leading to the park through the small thicket behind the houses of Privet Drive. Originally, Regulus Black had planned on not being present for most of the pick-up, or any of it really. He'd argued that Sirius should have as much of his first meeting with his godson to himself as possible. In the meantime, his own role would be to set up repelling wards around the benches where they would have most of their discussion. Ideally, they would have taken Harry, translocated him to his penthouse and _then_ explained things, but they didn't want to rush things or make it seem as though they were running away from anything.

Another option would have been to take him to Bond's home, but they figured it would be a bit fast to just dump on him that he'd essentially been spied on his whole life. Especially without proper context.

Besides, they didn't want anyone outside their circle (like, say, Dumbledore and the dark faction in the ministry) to have any chance to learn that the muggle secret services had been involved in this matter all these years. And the less was said about the personal stake of the surveillance team and James and "Sandra" the better.

Checking one last time that his spells were properly anchored, the younger Black waited, invisible, for his brother and Harry Potter to reach the two benches located beneath the large oak at the corner of the park farthest from the road. Those benches weren't there the previous day, especially not right across from each other, but poor Harry didn't seem to notice, dazed as he was. He did, however, look around in wary confusion when they walked into the confines of his spells.

Interesting.

Regulus really didn't think it was right to show himself then, but Sirius had been quite insistent on the matter. _"You've done more for Harry than I ever did_," he'd argued, miraculously not sounding bitter or self-loathing in the least. Those two months at Shangry La had really helped. "_And I intend for Harry to damn well know."_

In hindsight, maybe he should have expected him to say that. It was similar to what Sirius said to him when he questioned the wisdom of pulling that stunt with Voldemort's wand during the hearing. Never mind that it had, from one perspective, already happened, so it wasn't like he could do anything else. _"Like it or not, you're a bloody hero and I'll make sure the whole world damn well knows it._" As far as recognition went, it was about the best he could ever get, and something he'd craved to receive from his brother through most of his school years. He'd long since gone past the point where he had that craving, but it felt nice to be told that anyway.

Harry and Sirius had almost reached the benches (benches looking good as new but lacking the smell that usually came with fresh paint). The older wizard directed the child to sit across from him before sitting down himself. Then… nothing.

Regulus frowned. The two _must_ have exchanged some words on the way there, but neither looked like they were about to speak any time soon. Harry, for some obscure reason, had a shade of resigned hopelessness on his face, and Sirius didn't seem to know how to react to it. That talk they all had about how best to approach and treat Harry was likely not doing him any favors either. Regulus was all for letting Sirius wing it (a contrast to his usual tendency to prepare for things as well as possible). But Sirius himself said that while he was flattered by the unwavering faith he had in him, it wasn't matched by his own conviction that he wouldn't screw things up somehow if he went that route.

So they went through the relevant reports that had been compiled about Harry's mental and emotional state, until Ted Tonks and Marius Black, the only ones with any certified authority in the field of psychology, put together a list of guidelines at Sirius' behest: _be as honest with the kid as possible, and if he asks about something you feel he shouldn't know, tell him you can't tell him but don't lie to his face if you want his trust. Encourage him to ask questions as much as possible without seeming forceful. Make it clear that his relatives were bad people and liars without otherwise insulting them too much (otherwise you might make it seem as though you're somewhat like them in that respect). Don't go overboard with physical contact, especially at the start. And when talking to him, always address him by name, the name his relatives always avoided, and not some nickname like "pup." Because while he __**may**__ turn out to enjoy the familiarity and recognize it as the term of endearment it is, we don't want there to be any chance that such forms of address will make him subconsciously accept the opinion his relatives had of him –that he's, in the end, no better than an animal._

That last bit was something neither of them had considered, but made a worrisome amount of sense. Especially if he used the nickname before Harry learned about his godfather's ability to become a dog.

Throughout Regulus' ponderings, neither of his family members had said anything, and Sirius stood from his bench and took a few steps to the side, hand going to his chin in thought. That moment, Regulus figured his presence may actually help after all. As an icebreaker if nothing else. So he stepped forward once, then twice –knowing Sirius knew where he was the entire time- then loosened the hold on his invisibility and melted into view right as he walked past Sirius, his view of Harry blocked for the briefest of moments. And when his eyes landed on him again, it was just in time to see the little boy's eyes widen in startled surprise.

He couldn't blame him for dropping from the bench so fast. From the kid's perspective, it must have looked like he'd walked out of thin air, from right behind Sirius. And unlike his brother, he was wearing his full battle wizard attire. The Black Phantom was in full form that day. "Why the long faces?" His head titled slightly, and a contrived breeze made the hem of his black cloak flap ever so slightly. "Shouldn't you two be tearfully hugging it out by now? Like the long lost relatives that you are?"

"Relatives?" Harry asked in a small voice. Surprising. He didn't expect _him_ to react first.

Sirius grimaced, eyeing him from the side. "I'm still thinking of where to start." Then his eyes shifted from him to Harry a few times. "In the meantime, I may as well introduce you two. Harry, this is my brother. Little brother, this is my godson Harry."

_"Godson?!"_ was all over Harry's face, but the little boy didn't have the voice to say it.

"Hey little one." Well, that came out on its own. So much for avoiding nicknames. He blamed his memory of the kid as a baby. Hopefully Sirius would address him properly, unlike himself. "I'd ask if you remember me." He took a couple of casual steps towards the boy. "But even if you did, It's not like I ever introduced myself to you by name, so I'll do it now." Stopping in front of the pole-axed boy (probably still reeling from seeing him just appear), he held out a hand. "I'm Regulus Black. Very delighted to make your acquaintance in person."

Harry hesitantly reached out to numbly shake his hand. "After the star." He blurted.

"After the star." Regulus wondered if he should pull down his hood. He didn't. His face was visible enough. He motioned in Sirius' direction instead. "The same goes for him. It's a thing in our family you see. The Blacks. You almost got named after the same tradition actually."

The little wizard's head was spinning, but he latched onto that last train of thought. "What? Why? Are we… are we related?"

"Your grandmother on your father's side, Dorea." Sirius finally found his voice. "She was our great-aunt and wanted you to be called Aries, if I remember correctly. Got overruled by your dad and grandfather though." Regulus wasn't surprised by how fondly Sirius spoke of them. "James wanted a nice, clean name without any expectations attached. They'd decided on names as soon as he and Lily decided to try for a baby you see. Said he wanted his son's life to be his own in every way, and your mom Lily agreed. Old man Charlus agreed to Harry because it was essentially a form of Henry, which he said would sound perfect when you had to be announced at balls and the like."

It would have been amusing to watch Harry's increasingly overwhelmed face if this wasn't such a serious situation. "Balls?"

The poor lad grabbed onto the least relevant part in that whole speech, possibly because he instinctively knew it was the safest topic. Regulus sighed. "I do believe we are doing this wrong."

"Story of my life," Sirius muttered, though they both heard it. "Maybe we should take it from the beginning… as soon as we figure out what the beginning _is_."

"Are you serious?" Regulus asked, his incredulousness not totally faked. "You were up all of last night thinking about this." He ignored the start he saw Harry give from the corner of his eye. Good. The boy needed to know Sirius cared for him enough to lose sleep over his wellbeing. More than being rescued and addressed by name, it would drive home the point that he _did_ have value. "You can't tell me you-"

Regulus went unnaturally still when he heard a noise in his disillusioned earpiece.

He quickly whirled around and stepped away, bringing his left hand to his ear. His wand slid into his right hand automatically. "Report."

He felt two gazes boring into his back, but he gave all his attention to Dan Reed's voice. _"The Bearded Obstruction has just emerged from the Cat's Cradle."_

"Tch." Regulus wanted to curse. That was earlier than they expected. "ETA until Bearded Obstruction arrives at the Dungeon." It was the codename they'd empathically decided on for Number 4, Privet Drive.

"4 minutes, 2 seconds. Chatter box is moving in to delay."

"Damn." Quickly, whirling around, he addressed his brother. "Looks like the old man managed to get away from the Ministry earlier than we expected." Not waiting for Harry to ask, he addressed him, knowing that with this he would be more prone to trust them. "He's the one that illegally took and put you with those so-called relatives and wants you to stay imprisoned at Number 4 for as long as possible."

Harry's head darted in the direction of the street, as if expecting to see some big, scary person headed his way. Regulus knew that "imprisoned" might be laying it a bit thick, but they'd all agreed to be as honest as possible, and that _was_ how they saw Harry's placement there.

"Damn." Sirius looked like he wanted to use uglier words, but he managed to stop himself.

"I'll handle it. Don't rush things unless you get a warning yourself. This is too important and you know it."

His older brother's jaw was clenched tight, but he nodded. "I trust you. You know I do, but I'm still worried."

"Shelve it. Occlude it. I'll see you later today." He looked at Harry one last time. "A word of warning: your godfather tends to feel guilty about more thing than he should, much like you. Do keep that in mind once he gets going with his story." Not waiting, for any reply –not like they had much time- he turned, his coat flapping magnificently, and melted out of sight. It wasn't a wandless spell, but after using it so much he didn't need to tap himself on the head or the chest. The invisibility spread from the tip of his wand and covered him entirely within the span of just one second and a half.

He allowed himself to look back at Harry's expression, part-way between amazed and dumbfounded, before he soundlessly disappeared.

He'd practiced this. Portkeys would have taken too long, so the instantaneousness of apparition was his only choice. Normal people wouldn't stomach an apparition chain of 17 jumps in the span of 37 seconds, but he was no normal teleporter.

Soon, he was on top of the astronomy tower in Hogwarts. He gave himself five seconds to get a grip on himself. He felt like he'd be blown away by the wind any moment, despite knowing for certain he hadn't splinched. His stomach was turning, but that sensation, he knew, wasn't due to what he'd just done, but what he was about to do.

He hated what he was going to do, but he'd researched long and hard, and there was no stunning spell, or any status effect spell really, that worked on phoenixes, and no wards had been developed to restrict their movement. He spent more than a few sleepless hours rationalizing that he would only be accelerating the coming of the next burning day, but even so he felt like he was about to commit murder upon the purest of creatures. Nevertheless, they needed the tranlocation abilities of Dumbledore's familiar neutralized. No one, not Sirius, not Marius, knew of this plan of his. Only that he would "handle it" as it were. He knew they would not agree to his course of action if they were aware of his plans.

So despite feeling dirty, Regulus Black did the moves of his spell perfectly, and just as he was ready to send the bolt, even without shouting _Expulso,_ he disapparated and materialized behind the desk in the headmaster's office, right across from Fawkes' perch.

And froze just as the tip of his wand began to glow.

The most unearthly and uplifting song he'd ever heard filled his awareness. It paralyzed him and made him oblivious to the shock of the portraits in that room. There was only him in the world, and the firebird on the perch. It was stretching its wings, and its eyes were boring into his own.

It _knew_.

Somehow, it _knew_ what he'd come to do.

And despite all that, it had welcomed him with the most sublime expression of its feelings. Regulus had never actually heard the song of a phoenix, but now he realized that no description ever did it justice. It vibrated through his every cell. It purged his being of every claw that the miasma in the astral plane had sunk into him at any point in his life. It overwhelmed him with such ecstatic _peace_ that he just didn't want to do anything but _receive_ that gift for as long as it was being offered.

He stayed that way, unmoving for a long, long moment… then lowered his wand and released the hold on quintessence. Magic dispersed in relief that it would not be used to commit that atrocity. What had he been thinking? How could he have ever considered that their cause was worth it if it depended on such a horrible thing?

A wave of shame washed over him. Raphael would have been disappointed. More than once he'd said that the only true successes were those achieved without committing even the smallest crime in their name.

Fawkes flapped its wings once, trilling louder, and it made his heart leap, then settle. A calm overtook him. Told him that yes, they _were_ striving towards a worthwhile goal. Let him know that he was forgiven for thinking of doing what he was about to do. It made him feel smaller than ever, and ask himself what the hell he'd been thinking all over again.

There was no fight, no opposition when the bird flew from its perch and settled on his shoulder. There was no intent to avoid _fusion_ when they vanished in a blaze of fire. Only Regulus Black's feeling of shame was left behind, to disperse back into the astral currents it had pooled from.

Then he was standing in the middle of a circle of standing stones. The phoenix song awoke again, low at first, but stronger with each passing second. A comfortable breeze stroked his face as the magic around him thrummed, focused and pulled by the juncture in Stonehenge.

Fawkes soared towards the heavens and flamed away, leaving behind a clear, chiding impression of _You could have just asked_.

And Regulus Arcturus Black collapsed backwards, ending up resting his back against one of the standing rock pillars. He stayed that way for almost too long, but the urgency of his task finally caught up to him again, so he pushed himself to his feet once more and looked up, where the phoenix had last been.

There would be no interference from him that day. He would be "too distracted hunting" to flame Albus Dumbledore out of his predicament.

Good old Fawkes, the young man thought with half a smile as he disappeared from that mystical place.

His apparition chain deposited him in the Dursleys' bedroom on the first floor. Quickly, becoming invisible again, he looked out the window. Dumbledore was coming, just a couple dozen feet away from the small gate. Funny, that confrontation with the phoenix felt like it lasted for years, not minutes.

The old headmaster was dressed in an old-fashion suit colored a painful combination of lavender and turquoise. Gods above, his eyes hurt. It must have been the "normal" eye-watering robes under a transfiguration.

First goal: find out how sensitive to the weave the old wizard was.

Dumbledore went through the waist-high gate and took two steps. Quickly, the Black Phantom weaved a notice-me-not ward around the house that reached up to less than a meter away from the fence, which was exactly where Dumbledore was. The aged wizard spun on his heel and had his want out and pointed behind him in less than a second.

Deceptively fast for a man his age, but Regulus had expected nothing less, and it confirmed their theory that he could, in fact, sense magical constructs, or could see the electromagnetic spectrum on a higher frequency. Or both.

Dumbledore didn't trace any wand movements, but he did immediately spin again, pointing his wand precisely at the window Regulus was staring out through. Wandless human presence revealing charm then. It had to be.

Ignoring the anxiousness in his chest, Regulus black frowned and disappeared.

Less than a moment later, he was behind Dumbledore, one hand on his shoulder. There was no speech. No witty banter. Regulus chose to give the old Hogwarts Headmaster no time to react to his sudden presence. There was just a clash of wills, a rush of magic, and then nothing.

"-. .-"

Sirius stared where his brother had last been. It was hard to focus on Harry again and put everything else out of his mind. He had to repeatedly tell himself that Regulus had a whole bunch of emergency portkeys on him, and had even ingested one that morning (a small marble), all of which could bypass standard translocation prevention spells. Even so, he was worried, and he resented Dumbledore for tainting his reunion with Harry with his appearance.

But that thought only made him want to do it all properly, just to prove to himself that both of them were free of that meddling old man. Funny. When he was younger, the man's easy smile and twinkling eyes used to make him feel so safe.

"What…" Harry breathed. "What was that?"

That finally snapped Sirius out of his funk. "A spell my brother invented. Better than the standard invisibility. You wouldn't see him even if he was still there."

"Not that," Harry gesticulated weakly. "I mean… what did he mean?"

"Oh," Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead. "That was the person who brought you here against everyone else's wishes trying to prevent us from taking you away to a better place."

"Oh…" It was obvious the boy wanted to ask more, but years of being told not to ask questions prevented him. Sirius frowned. He'd have to work on that, but this once it would serve him well.

With a sigh, Lord Black walked forward and gestured at the bench. "Sit Harry." The lad obeyed, so he took a seat across from him, as he did the first time they got there. "Now, before I start, let me make this clear: It's okay to ask questions. Understand?"

Harry nodded, looking a confused and wary still. Sirius wondered why he was so uneasy.

"But this time, I'm going to ask you to wait until I tell you everything first, okay? Most of the answers will be in what I'm about to tell you." Another silent nod. "Okay… I suppose it all started…" Then he stopped. For some reason he just couldn't string words together. What was wrong with him?

He shook his head and tried not to let his frustration show. How the hell was he supposed to explain to an 8 year-old that his parents were killed by a wizard Hitler and then the one who was supposed to be a good guy arranged for his imprisonment "for his safety" because only he knew best? Or that he was a recently released convict but really, that was just a mistake! It sounded like a crazy story-

That stopped his train of thought. He didn't notice the way Harry started to look around for escape routes while he kept silent, but he did see him become still when he met his eyes. All of a sudden, he knew exactly what to say. "Once… there was a Harry Potter."

The boy wizard's eyes widened a bit and his back relaxed. Marginally, but it relaxed. The kid actually responded well when you acted as though you were telling him a fairy tale. Who knew?

"Once, there was a Harry Potter. He was a beautiful, lively and happy baby, and he lived with his parents, James and Lily Potter, who loved him more than anything else in the world. Parents that could always set aside their worries whenever they laid eyes on their baby, because raising him safe and happy was all they wanted, even more than the wealth they already had, and the large castle they lived in."

Harry was hanging onto every syllable, and didn't really seem to care about anything that came after he heard the words "loved him." It made Sirius want to go and beat the stuffing out of Vernon.

"But see, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, because it wasn't a bright time in the magical world. During those times, an evil wizard was gaining power, so much power that people feared to speak his name lest they summon his wrath. He was going after everyone who stood against him, like Harry's mom and dad. He tried to hurt and kill them more than once." Here, Harry gripped the edge of the bench tight, but didn't speak. "But Harry's parents were too skilled and sneaky to be caught, and they made him really angry. They defied him three times before Harry was born, all that before they reached the age of 20, even though the bad wizard Tom Riddle, who liked to call himself Voldemort, was older and more experienced.

But something happened right before Harry was born. The leader of the ones standing against the bad wizard heard a prophecy, one that spoke of a child born 'as the seventh month dies' that would be the downfall of the dark lord. The prophecy could very well have been hooey, but a wizard allied with the bad man also heard the first part, and told the bad wizard about it, and the bad wizard believed it. The bad wizard then got it into his head that he had to kill the subjects of that prophecy as soon as possible, which meant that Little Harry became a target."

Harry had become white, but his face was otherwise blank, and he didn't interrupt. Sirius hated to dump all this on him, but they had to tell him before they could explain why he should just disregard everything anyone ever thought about that stupid piece of foretelling.

"Before then, no one, not even their friends, believed there was anything that could stop Harry's parents from fighting against the bad wizard, but it turned out that they loved their baby even more than they loved the rest of the world." It was painful to see the anguish and longing mix with relief in so equal parts on that boy's face. "So they went into hiding. At first they kept changing safe houses, at their leader's behest. They were part of a secret order you see," Harry's eyes lit with curiosity and a small amount of awe. "But the leader thought there was a spy, so he kept information restricted. The only ones who ever knew where they were located were the ones they were staying with, and little Harry's godfather."

Here harry blinked, making the connection. "You mean you…" Then he shut up at Sirius' raised eyebrow, remembering not to interrupt.

"But while the spy couldn't tell the bad wizard where the Potters were, he did tell him that the man's godfather had the information. One thing led to another, and about 25 of the bad man's followers went to the godfather's home to capture and torture the information out of him." Sirius hated to share this information, but Harry's innocence had already taken a beating from his life up to that point. "But there was another mysterious wizard that fought against Voldemort, one that no one really knew what to think about. He worked on his own. He was sneaky and smart, and he'd found a way to render most of Voldemort's tactics ineffective. He was the reason the war was at a stalemate, and it was because of him that many of the families of the good guys were saved during those last years, between 1979 and 1981. He was known as the Black Phantom because of his black clothing and tendency to soundlessly disappear and appear wherever and whenever he wanted. But he was also a former follower of the bad wizard, so the good guys were suspicious of him too.

And he was keeping an eye on things, and learned about the plot against Harry's godfather and intervened, helping him fight them off. But during the events, Harry's parents came to the rescue too, and then the bad wizard came himself, and when he did, the mysterious wizard that had helped them so far suddenly turned on Harry's parents and godfather and captured them, and spirited them away.

"But it was all a trick!" He hurried to say before Harry became too distressed to listen further. "He acted like he captured them to fool the bad wizard. So, for a whole year afterwards, the bad wizard wasted his time trying to track down and capture the mysterious wizard. And all the while, Harry and his parents lived peacefully at their ancestral castle without anyone but their order's leader being the wiser."

Harry seemed torn between admiration for the mysterious wizard and grief that even all that hadn't been enough to keep his parents alive.

"But a year was a long time for outgoing and loving people like Harry's parents, and they couldn't really bear being isolated from everyone for much longer, especially Harry's godfather and their other two close friends. So they revealed to them the ploy, and where they were, asking them to visit… But when they came by they found tracking spells on two of them, which meant the spy must have found out somehow, so they weren't hidden anymore.

But it was okay. The castle was well defended, and they were thinking that they should just move the entire order there. But the wards, the protection magic, seemed to malfunction, because it repelled some of the order members, including the leader they all trusted. So the Potters decided that the ward anchors had to be looked at and fixed, but they couldn't stay in the castle while that was happening, because it would not be safe with them turned off." Well, the wards never actually turned off. They refused to.

He paused there, to see if Harry was following. He was, though he seemed to be wondering if it was all really believable. Sirius didn't interrupt his retelling to assure him though. He didn't think he'd acquire enough momentum to finish if he did.

"So the order leader asked them to go into hiding again, and even said he had found a method to make them totally safe, safer than ever before. Coincidentally, Harry's dad and godfather met with the Black Phantom in secret and he suggested the same thing: the Fidelius Charm. It's a spell that hides the secret of a location in the soul of another person, a Secret Keeper, and it's impossible to find out that secret after that, unless the secret keeper willingly tells others.

It seemed like the perfect solution, at least until the wards on the castle were fixed. So Harry's mom, Lily, an amazing witch, learned the charm and cast in over a cottage in a village, Godric's Hollow, on October 25, 1981. But that's where the catastrophe happened, and Harry's godfather managed to ruin everything."

Sirius almost didn't have the courage to meet Harry's eyes, fearful of the anxiety he would find there, but he did. Sure enough, the boy was apprehensive, biting his lower lip, and seemed to be coiled like a spring, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.

"See, Harry's dad wanted the godfather to become secret keeper, but Harry's godfather had a great idea, he thought. He remembered how he'd been hunted the previous year, how he was almost captured. So he thought that it was obvious the bad wizard would think he would be the secret keeper. There was still a spy in the order after all, and he'd probably tell Voldemort about the Fidelius. So the godfather said hey, let's make our other friend the secret keeper and let everyone think it was me. That way, even if they do catch me, they won't have any information to force out of me and you'll be safe.

Their other friend was on a mission at the time, and the one still around had built for himself an image of not being that remarkable, so no one would suspect him as secret keeper. Eventually, the others agreed, and they cast the charm.

You're a bright kid. You can probably guess what happened next."

Harry lowered his gaze and slouched. He didn't say anything for a time, but then. "He was the spy wasn't he? He… he told this… Voldemort where they were didn't he?"

"He did." Sirius had to force his voice to stay level. "His name was Peter Pettigrew. He went to Voldemort and told him, and Voldemort made his way himself to the house on Halloween. Harry's godfather was answering a distress call that night, in France. He was like Harry's dad before they hid, a Hit Wizard. Kind of like the S015 Counter Terrorism Command or SWAT, only for magical threats." Clearly, Harry was too stricken to react with any measure of admiration. "So he wasn't nearby when it happened. Voldemort went to their house, Peter in tow, and killed James and Lily… Not without a fight, but in the end he won…" He had to give himself some time to clear his voice. He waved a hand over his face to banish the tears from his eyes and his nose, but they'd already spilled enough for Harry to see.

"Then he finally got to you, and turned his wand on you." The boy bit his lip harder and ducked his head. His hands had moved from the bench side and were gripping his shirt instead. "Harry…" He waited for the boy to meet his gaze. It took a while. "There's a horrible curse some Wizards can use. It just hits you and you're dead. Just a flash of green light-" Harry went stiff "- and you're gone. No one can survive it, but when he cast it on you, something happened. The curse rebounded and destroyed Voldemort, leaving you with that scar." Sirius reached forward and swept the bangs away, tracing the lightning bolt. He pretended not to notice Harry going motionless as a board. "It was a miracle. The war finally ended. People that were being controlled by the bad wizard suddenly had their minds again, and the fear no longer reigned. The miracle of your survival marked the end of the terror. You became famous. You're known as the Boy-Who-Lived in our society." He pulled his hand away, meeting the child's disbelieving, tearing eyes with his own. "I think it's a stupid name, but wizards like hyphens for some reason."

Harry didn't laugh. He was struck dumb. Where once there was just a wish to learn about his parents, now there were just tears that made him wish he'd never learned of it at all. It ate at Sirius, that he was responsible for that look, that hopeless anger and suffering. But he couldn't stop. Not if he wanted to go through with the disclosure.

"I wish I could say that was it, but it isn't. See, that was just the start of things going wrong. Peter fled, afraid of trying anything against you after you destroyed his master. Harry's godfather had suffered an injury in that mission in France and it took a day to recover, so he missed him. When he finally came and saw what had happened, he went mad with grief. As godfather, he should have been the one to take you to live with him, but when he reached the house, the leader of the order had sent his strongman to take you away with him. Harry's godfather didn't have a reason not to trust the old wizard at the time, so he gave the man –Hagrid- his flying motorbike and went after Peter instead."

_"It's real!"_ Harry' eyes shouted, though his voice wasn't used.

"Ah, so you do remember." The sad smile felt out of place on Sirius' face, but he couldn't help it. His eyes turned dark soon enough. "The godfather went hunting." Somehow, it was easier to retell the events in third person. It also helped that he'd shed his tears during that hearing. That amazing and horrible hearing. But belatedly, he realized he'd started to alternate between Harry and "you" at some point. Merlin, he was already inconsistent. "He was stronger, simply better than the spy, and he was going to make him pay, but he was also angry, not thinking straight. So despite how he soon found the traitor, he was out witted. The traitor was ready for him. He ran into the street, crowded with people, and shouted to the world that the godfather betrayed James and Lily. Then he blew up the street with a spell, killing many of the bystanders. Then he cut off his finger, making it look like he died by the godfather's wand, and turned into a rat, escaping through the sewers.

The explosion knocked the godfather around, dazed him. And the godfather could only feel guilty for suggesting the secret keeper switch. And you know what they say, when things like this happen you either laugh or cry, and he started alternating from one to the other. Then he was found by the ministry forces while babbling about killing James and Lily, and after asking the people still alive what had happened, they all assumed the godfather had been the traitor and killed Pettigrew too, just to have a full set. And they assumed he'd also killed those people that died in Peter's explosion. The rat had well and truly framed him. So they took the godfather away before he came to his senses. It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd done the right thing and gotten a healer to him. Or even if they'd tried him as he was supposed to have been. It was procedure you know? To get him coherent, question him and decide what to do next.

But it just goes to show that Voldemort wasn't the only bad wizard at the time." Here his increasingly hoarse voice became tighter, tenser. Anger seeping into it. Harry holding and rubbing his own arm. A nervous tick. "The one in charge of law enforcement was a horrible man, and he tossed the godfather in prison without a trial. No one asked any questions. Everyone was convinced he'd done it, so they just dumped him in there and threw away the key before his concussion healed and his grief-addled mind came back to him. And that's where they kept him for seven long years. Even after the man who put him there was found to be power-mad and deluded, they still left him to rot. And because of that, he couldn't come and get you out of this different type of prison you ended up in."

It was impossible to interpret the look on Harry's face. Sirius didn't know why, but he just couldn't read it. It was so… neutral. Despite the shine in the eyes, and the runny nose he wiped with his sleeve.

"I wish I could say that was it. That people finally realized what had happened and left the godfather out. But it's not that simple. And it all goes back to that Halloween. I couldn't believe it at first, but you know that old wizard? The one I said was the leader of the order, the one we all trusted?" Harry hesitantly nodded. "He's the one that put you here." Harry's eyes widened and he looked towards the street and back to him. Accurately making the connection. "I'm still having trouble believing it. If your dad was alive now, he'd probably beat him to an inch of his life if he learned of it. I suppose now we know why the wards on the castle didn't allow him in. They knew something we didn't. The old man knew your mom and her sister weren't on good terms, and he was warned by another person that your aunt and uncle were the worst kind of people, but he didn't listen. Because he always thought he knew best.

See, the orb holding the prophecy about you and the bad wizard didn't go dark when he was destroyed, which made our so-called order's leader think he was still out there somewhere. And the prophecy didn't say you'd beat the bad wizard, just that it was either you or him that would die when you met. Now I'll tell you I don't believe that prophesy at all, but the old man does, and he's used to controlling everything. And he thought that there would come a time when you'd be faced with each other again, so he spirited you away before the proper authorities could get involved. Hid you here, and wants to keep you here until the bad wizard comes out again, so he could retrieve and throw you at him again until one of you dies."

"I was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, think that maybe it was ok so for you here long as there was no one better, but setting aside how he let me rot in a prison manned by soul-devouring demon guards-" Harry gave a start "-without coming to confront me even once, he actually _knows_ everything you've been going through, and hasn't done anything about it. Do you know how?" Harry shook his head, eyes wide. Sirius almost told him about the blood-based deluminator tracker, but held himself back. "Your babysitter, Miss Figg? She's part of that order of ours and she's here to keep an eye on you."

Harry finally gasped. Whether it was astonishment or horror, Sirius didn't know. Whatever the reaction was, it couldn't be seen through the thick wall of distress, confusion and denial of the concept that his life could possibly be so messed up and complicated.

"And just to make sure you don't get any ideas, Miss Figg has been deliberately making your stays at her house unpleasant just so your Aunt and Uncle didn't send you elsewhere. They really would be petty enough to begrudge you the relief of a calm afternoon, seeing and they hate you for being magical. Vernon hates magic on principle, and Petunia hates magic because Lily had it and she doesn't. She wrote a letter to the old man, back when your mom was accepted to the magic school. She wanted to go too, but the old man had to let her down because she just wasn't magical. So she, like her husband, have been taking it out on you. And Miss Figg and the old man both know it and don't care as long as you stay alive and functional enough to be thrown to the wolves when the time comes."

Harry stared at him, hopelessly, then bowed his head.

Sirius couldn't blame him. Harry was an 8 year-old that had, nonetheless, been forced to grow up faster than normal, so he had reached just the right level of mental development to realize he had a horrible life for no real reason but couldn't do anything about it.

But Sirius could, and he _would_. "I'd have broken out of prison for you the day after I was tossed in if I knew."

Harry's head shot up again, startled. Sirius hated the sight of the tears, and the clear disbelief that anyone could care about him so much, but he didn't look away. His godson had to see his honesty. No one else had shown him any. "But I thought you'd been placed with the Longbottoms, friends of ours. James and Lily had talked to me about it, you know? They had written it in their wills and everything, but the old man blocked their execution, so no one ever found out. But all these years, I thought you were living happily with your godmother and god-brother. Obviously, I was wrong, and I can never express how sorry I am."

Harry looked away, then lowered his eyes and began to rub them with the back of his sleeve. Somehow, he was stilling holding his sobs inside.

"But you know what?" It took long seconds, but eventually Harry's puffy eyes managed to meet his own again. "The deluded old man isn't the only one that's been watching over you all these years." With a wave of his hand, the handkerchief in his chest pocket flew to his hand. He held it out for Harry to take. "I never did say what happened to the Black Phantom did I?"

Harry began to wipe his nose while shaking his head. It amazed Sirius that he really was refraining from asking questions. Those bastards really had drilled obedience into him.

"I told you your dad and me had met him in secret right?" Harry nodded and blew his nose. "Well, the Fidelius prevented him from finding you and your parents when you were attacked, or at any point until the old man's strongman took you away, but he did catch up to you immediately afterwards. He followed the man, invisible, as he flew you on my bike all the way here, the night of November 1. And he was here when the old man dumped you in a basket on the porch. That's how I know of all this actually. He told me. See, if Petunia had a chance to refuse to accept you, the blood ward the old wizard cast wouldn't have activated. So he just left you there, and she had no choice but to take you into the house when morning came. The old man only left a letter that informed her about the spell and how she'd be in danger from the bad wizard's followers if she sent you away, since the ward would fall. That must have contributed to her resentment of you.

But the Black Phantom saw and heard everything. He guarded you until morning, and kept you warm." Sirius got off the bench and knelt in front of his godson. "But he knew he couldn't do anything against the old man on his own. He practically controlled the whole society, see? So as soon as Petunia took you into the house, he went looking for me. And when he found out I'd been arrested and tossed in that prison, he went looking for the traitor. And he found him."

Harry seemed to gain some interest, but it was hard to say. He sniffed at least.

"But there was one of the Voldemort's followers after the rat too. He thought the traitor had worked together with your mom and dad to take his master down. Things got hairy, there was a fight, the traitor was killed and the bad wizard's follower escaped. The Black Phantom didn't give up though. He got MI6, the British secret service, to help track him down, and caught up to him in Italy." Now, Harry finally showed some amazement. "Unfortunately, the bad man saw he was cornered and erased his own memory of all knowledge of the events, making it impossible to get me out of prison. At least as long as the bad wizard in charge of the law enforcement division wasn't replaced by someone honorable. And that only happened two months ago, because the magical world is messed up like that.

"So in the meantime, the Wizard got MI6 to set up a watch in the area, and he made sure to watch over you himself." Harry's eyebrows came together in a thoughtful frown. He was starting to connect the dots. "So if you have any memories of sandwiches appearing in your lap while you were locked in the cupboard. Or if you remember total strangers helping you find your way back home, or chasing bullies off, or helping you gather up the groceries you dropped because of them, now you know where it all came from. The agents keeping surveillance were supposed to just watch, but they couldn't stay impartial. They grew too fond of you to just sit aside. Like me, they couldn't understand how anyone, especially your relatives, could ever hate you." Sirius grinned, trying to force some levity after that depressing retelling. "One of them promised to rid the world of Ripper as soon as you got taken away from here. Oh, and just so you know, Sandra isn't who she appears to be either." Sirius grinned wider at the stupefied look that crossed Harry's eyes. "What was it she said? Ah right. 'I'm thinking of taking him away from that place myself if the magicals don't get their act together by his birthday,' I think it was."

The boy looked down, eyes not taking anything in as he tried to process everything he'd been told. "There are many people who love you, Harry." The boy looked back up at him, affected by the serious tone he'd chosen. Sirius reached forward, took him by the hands. They were cold and clammy. "_I_ love you, Harry." A flare. Hope, hurt, denial and hopelessness all came together. The raw emotion and _longing_ in those green eyes, Lily's eyes, was so… Sirius didn't know. The way Harry's small hands came together into fists in his loose grip made him wish he could inflict on the Dursleys everything they'd done to him. But he'd gone seeking revenge before, and he'd lost him.

Never again. "And now that I'm here, I'll make sure no stuffy old codger can stop me or them from showing it. Do you understand?"

Sirius didn't look away. He didn't blink. He was determined to keep the stare down going until Harry accepted his honesty and nodded his understanding. So as time stretched, he maintained the eye contact, never wavering.

Until Harry folded in on himself and let his head hang forward, further and lower than at any other point throughout that one-sided conversation. Yet before Sirius could realize he _hadn't_ nodded his understanding, the boy pushed himself off the bench, leaving the handkerchief behind. Silently, he took a few steps, away from Sirius, away from the shade that the oak cast over those two benches they'd been sitting on. Sirius watched him, concerned. He knew Harry was probably thinking of everything he'd heard, but some vocal acknowledgment would have helped.

It never came. Instead, Harry's shoulders began to shake. Very slowly at first. Sirius didn't even notice immediately. But when he did, his mind jumped into high gear, and he instantly approached him, in just two strides. When he moved to put his hand on Harry's shoulder, the boy just faced even further away, shaking harder and bringing a hand to his face.

But before Sirius had time to wonder if giving him a hug was taking things too far too fast, he was made to realize that, just as he'd done with Pollux months before, he'd gotten the completely _wrong_ idea.

Instead of crying, Harry started laughing. It wasn't amusement, no. It wasn't a mad cackling either. Just an old, tired, broken, _bitter_ sound that forced its way through the poor boy's throat. The kind of sound that people made when the situation was just too absurd to react in any other way. It would have been wretched enough on its own, but it was clear Harry didn't really have practice in laughing of any kind, and that only made it worse.

Behind him, Sirius had frozen in place, his hand hovering inches above Harry's right shoulder.

"You know…" Harry's tone barely broke through the anguished chuckling. His head shook but his palm never left his face. "I almost bought it this time." His tone was so filled with self-ridicule that Sirius' mind came to a screeching halt, just like his body had done seconds before. What did he _mean?_ "It's perfect! It makes perfect sense! I knew it would at some point…" Harry's palm slid higher. His fingers curled around his hair as he bit back whatever he was about to say. "It makes perfect sense!" He laughed again, but it was closer to a sob than ever. "I almost bought it. I _would_ have bought it if it wasn't all so perfectly aligned." He wiped his face again, looking around, talking to no one who was there. "Because _that's_ not suspicious at all."

What in Merlin's name?

With a supreme effort of will, Sirius forced his mind to reengage. His hand finally settled on Harry's shoulder. He would wait for a while to see if there would be any reaction, before he forced him to face him again.

Harry choked back a sob -or a laugh, Sirius didn't know which- and craned his neck, just enough to treat his godfather to the most depleted, hopeless one-eyed stare he'd ever been pinned with. The type of stare you had after you saw the entire world die, crumble around you.

After you realized that your entire life was just one big joke.

Harry's eyes, that deep emerald-green blinked, then morphed into defiant, then hateful to such a degree that Sirius froze in place yet again. And before he could rationalize, realize that that hatred, that _loathing _wasn't aimed at _him_, Harry spun around and shoved him in the midriff, putting in the entire weight his small, malnourished body could muster.

Emotionally unbalanced as he was, it was enough for the surprise of the move to overcome his normal sense of balance. Sirius Black was pushed backwards with a grunt, lost his footing and fell. It wouldn't have been a big problem if the corner of the wooden bench wasn't in the path of the back of his head.

The wizard saw stars. Dimly, he heard rapid, rushed footsteps getting farther and farther, and his vision swam. Spots turned to dots as his eyes focused, and the daze faded enough for him to realize his position. Spread on his side on the dusty park path, right between the benches he and Harry had been sitting on-HARRY!

In a moment, he was on his feet, and realized what a bad idea _that_ had been just as fast. His head started spinning again, but he reigned it in with sheer willpower and pinned the path back through the wood with his eyes. One small step turned into a stride, then a run. He didn't know _what_ had scared Harry off like that, but there was no way in hell he'd let the distance between them grow. He would catch up, then he'd think about whatever it was that had-

He was within meters of the gap in the fence leading to the back yard of Number 4 when he swayed. Magic washed over him, pressing down on him from above. He gasped and fell forward. Before he realized what was happening, before he could wonder what the golden light at the edge of his eyes was, he was changing, shifting, growing fur and claws.

A second later, Padfoot yelped and lost his footing, falling on his snout. The hound tried to think past the confusion, and when he realized what had just happened, he tried to let Sirius back out, only to realize that he couldn't. What in Flamel's beard? Was this Dumbledore's doing?

But before he could panic, a reassuring hum at the back of his mind cleared his thoughts. It wasn't like the Magic of Black, but it was similar. Sharing the same space, urging him forward, and bringing one specific memory to the forefront of his logical mind. His brother's voice during that clinical extrapolation.

_I think the protection IS Lily Potter._

Padfoot half-barked, stunned at the realization. Lily!

A single moment of hesitation, then the black hound was charging, through the gap in the fence, over the half-dug flowerbeds, through the back door and into the house.

"-. .-"

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Acclaimed as the most powerful wizard of recent times. Lots of titles and an impressive reputation. It would have normally put anyone off the idea of facing him in any way.

For Regulus Black, he was an obstacle by association.

So he set about removing it.

Dumbledore should have been able to resist the forceful apparition somewhat. Not entirely -Regulus was much more skilled in that means of translocation than anyone else was- but he should have been able to buy himself at least half a moment. It was the only real big risk in that abduction attempt.

But when he laid his hand on the old wizard's shoulder and _willed_, the magic of the Blood Ward surprised him, melded with his and shattered whatever opposition Dumbledore could have brought to bear. _The protection is Lily Potter_ _after all_, Regulus thought in that one instant of non-existence where no awareness should have been possible. _And she agrees with what we're doing_.

The translocation deposited them on the roof of the Aviva Tower in London. Regulus did love that place. They both landed on their feet, but the gale that always howled at that altitude added a split-moment to the older wizard's delayed reaction, and the robes returning to their normal state didn't do him any favors either. So by the time he was jumping away and bringing the Elder Wand to bear, Regulus Black was closing the distance even faster. His right grabbed the wrist of the wand hand, shoving it aside, and his left lashed out, throwing a chain around and over Albus Dumbledore in a knot. And when he pulled it in, tightening it around that chest and upper arms, it abruptly changed the old man's momentum, setting him off balance as he was pulled forward. "Betrayer's Redoubt," he clearly intoned in Dumbledore's ear.

The password made the chain flash blue, activating the portkey and whisking them both away. The rush and spin of the transport prevented further struggling –Dumbledore knew it was folly to try to cast while in transit- and released them just six point 7 seconds afterwards.

Dumbledore landed on his feet.

Regulus allowed himself to fall, rolled and sprung to his feet one point 2 seconds later, twirled on his heel, thus avoiding the light of a disarmer –surprising accuracy given how the old man couldn't move his upper arms away from his body- and had his wand out in time to deflect a hasty stunning hex.

Silence.

Regulus relaxed his stance –or made it seem as if he did- and adopted his loose dueling position. Half-facing away from his opponent and with his wand loosely held on his right hand, tip down. In the half a second it took the aged Headmaster of Hogwarts to banish the chain impairing his mobility, he could have downed him, just like he could have materialized behind him with a stunner or more deadly spell already on the tip of his wand, back in Little Whinging.

By the way Dumbledore also let his wand hang, tip down, it was clear he realized it as well.

Near-grey eyes met blue. No twinkle in sight.

First round was his.

And when the legilimency bore into him –not unexpected when trying to figure out what the opponent will do next in a fight- he almost showed him Fawkes approving of their ultimate goal. But that was one experience he'd keep to himself, so he let the probe meet the clear image of a certain old man placing a certain baby on a certain porch on a certain day of a certain month of a certain year.

The legilimency stopped. Dumbledore realized that way of predicting his moves was closed to him. At least the old man caught on fast, he'll give him that much.

"I must say I am very surprised by this turn of events," Dumbledore started, making on step to the side, which Regulus mirrored. "I used to think highly of the Black Phantom, or rather his skills, but in the end it turns out he is but a rash young man." Trying to get a rise out of him while circling each other, looking for openings. Standard procedure for manipulative men. Voldemort did it all the time. "Although I admit I didn't expect this. You realize apparating people against their will is considered assault. And doing it to a member of the Wizengamot, especially the chief warlock, is an easy ticket to Azkaban."

Regulus silently admired the carefree tone of his voice, even though he knew the old bumblebee was troubled by how he'd managed to sneak up on him. He could have killed him instead of apparating him away, and they both knew it. "I would say I am surprised by this turn of events, but I'd be lying." Regulus cracked his neck loosely, fully alert for any moves. "But that's only because I lost faith in your sense of morality long before the end of the war. Even the me of back then wouldn't have dared hope you would abide by the law you like to flaunt instead of fleeing the ministry just as you were being called to assume responsibility for what you did. The kidnapping of a baby and then doing everything in your power to keep him imprisoned in an engineered hell." Well, it sounded really horrible put that way, but Regulus _was_ a drama queen, of sorts. "Although I acknowledge the wisdom of fleeing the ministry before the restraining order against the Black and Potter families went into effect. This way, at least, you'd be able to plead plausible deniability if our confrontation gets out." He craned his neck, eyes narrowing. "But we both know it won't."

Outwardly, Dumbledore didn't seem fazed, but Regulus felt the shift in the atmosphere, the way the magic coiled. Ha! Like he'd allow him to apparate away. He'd stretched the influence of his amulet to the maximum 20 meters as soon as they landed. Given the way the aged headmaster's magic kept shifting, Regulus deduced the older wizard was wandlessly scanning for the place where the assumed anti-disapparition ward had been anchored. The very slight narrowing of his eyes confirmed that he'd realized there was no such anchor, and he knew that type of scan didn't work on people –man's self was not so easily assailable- so his ward necklace remained undiscovered.

"I was only making sure your actions didn't spell folly for an innocent boy."

Regulus Black didn't even try to hide his skepticism. "Because clearly _we're_ the ones in the wrong." He knew they weren't. He'd been sure of it even before Fawkes basically gave them its blessing, but now he _knew_.

Dumbledore's grip on his wand became just that little bit firmer. "Are you telling me you did not realize that you and your brother just revealed Harry Potter's location to the entire magical world?"

Regulus stopped pacing, so Dumbledore did as well. "Ah, and there it is. Your first attempt to insinuate Sirius lacks the discernment needed to gain custody of his godson. As if you know better than the lad's parents… or were you going to use the 'Azkaban affected him too much for him to be a responsible adult' argument?" He smiled deprecatingly. "Did you preach that to the DMLE and the rest of the ministry before you snuck out through the back door? Oh wait, you couldn't have." He change stances and began to circle Dumbledore in the other direction. Across from him, the older wizard did the same. "If you had, it would have meant admitting that your 'measures' were incapable of keeping those with the intent to harm out. Which, naturally, would have completely invalidated all the arguments you brought to bear during the hearing."

Dumbledore frowned ever so minutely.

Abruptly, Regulus stopped. "Let's cut the bullshit here: the only reason you showed up in Privet Drive today was to make sure Sirius didn't go to see his godson, and 'fix' the situation if he happened to have done so. I wonder…" Regulus twirled his wand on his fingertips, but he was ready to teleport at the slightest hint that the other man was about to attack. "Were you going to obliviate Harry as well this time?"

Again the old man didn't seem particularly affected in any form. Regulus knew it was an act, but he'd have liked to see him honestly gape in shock. He had the perfect means too –_Were you planning on getting him murdered like a good little Horcrux?-_ but they'd already decided to act like they had no idea Voldemort was still around and why. Dumbledore possibly had no idea about the means Voldemort used to become immortal, and they wanted to keep things that way.

Besides, playing dumb would be just that much more frustrating to the man-who-knew-best-and-should-be-trusted-and-obeyed , for so long as he insisted on keeping information close to his chest.

Across the clearing, Dumbledore had stopped pacing as well. Regulus knew why no hostile action had been taken yet. Dumbledore had used the time to check the surroundings, so now he knew the battleground. The totally crumbled ruins of an old cottage, the occasional piece of foundation, overgrown with moss and blackberry vine, and the remains of the stone wall, all circling the entire 20-meter wide clearing, in slightly better shape than the rest of the former ranger's cabin. Beyond that, a wall of spruces, green and vibrant.

Kielder Forest. Such a lovely place.

And so very far away from London and Little Whinging.

Not that Dumbledore realized _what_ forest he'd been brought to.

"I suppose I should have expected such a reaction," Dumbledore said, sounding honestly sad and wistful at the same time. "You have decided to think me a monster that must be opposed at all costs, and there is nothing I can say or do that will prove otherwise."

"Such a defeatist thing to say," Regulus noted. They must have circled each other three times already. "I try not to think of you at all. Too many temptations otherwise. It's Sirius who's upset. He looked up to you… and yet to left him to rot, set his godson aside to use like a disposable wiper, and you saved the one who was ultimately the cause of his family's murder –set him upon our young no less. _That_ betrayal is one I cannot look past easily."

"That man also happened to be the one who let me know of Voldemort's plans for the Potters." If Dumbledore expected him to flinch at the name, he'd have to stay disappointed. "You yourself turned around. Would you begrudge him the chance to make amends?" Ah, guilt tripping. He was wondering when it would happen. Amazing how Dumbledore ignored the way he vouched for Snape but didn't bother to do the same for Sirius, or at least try to learn _why_. "As for the rest, I am not surprised Sirius thinks of me in such an unfortunate way now." Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I admit I did wrong by him when I left him to languish." Regulus snorted. "Though I suppose it would not be proper to mention that even the shortest visit from you, back then, would have prompted me to confront him as I should have done." The young wizard held back a wince, even though that attempt to foist responsibility on him was revolting. That was the _one_ thing he still wondered about. "But if that was the only reason for his misgivings, he'd hate everyone that did the same. As it is, I seem to be the only target of his ire. I don't think I need to look far for the cause of that."

Regulus frowned, his anger simmering behind his still clear mind. The old man had a lot of nerve to basically insinuate _he'd_ poisoned Sirius against him. As though Sirius should have just happily set his seven Azkaban years behind him. It wasn't surprising per se, but he still hoped Dumbledore wouldn't sink so low, for his brother's sake. "So you still think you are in the right, even now."

In another time, Sirius might have had no choice but to do what Dumbledore was suggesting he should. But that was not the case. He had others looking out for him now. Others that would not so easily use him for their own agenda, only discard him as soon as it was required, for the Greater Good. Regulus knew Dumbledore never actually used those words after his sister's death. But he did act according to that principle, or at least whatever he happened to consider the greater good at any given time, whether he realized it or not.

It was folly. There was no such thing as smaller and greater good. It was just a way man used to fool himself into thinking what he does is excusable.

The old wizard spoke. "My answer will not sway you, whatever it happens to be."

Which was another way to say yes I think I'm right, or I refuse to think about it too deeply lest I have a heel realization. One option made him deluded, the other a coward. Regulus didn't know which was worse. "Then I am afraid we are at an impasse." Maybe there was another explanation he didn't perceive. He hoped there was, even if it did mean his discernment was lacking.

"So we are." Both stopped circling. "I commend you for getting the drop on me earlier, but I assure you it will not happen again."

Regulus didn't show his opinion on his face. It could happen again alright. Unlike Dumbledore, he wasn't affected by anti-translocation wards. And regardless of his skill in magical combat, it was doubtful that the old and no-longer-spry Albus Dumbledore could counter a teleport-kick or stab to the face.

He'll admit, however, that for all his skills, Regulus didn't expect to be able to cross wands with the old wizard and come out on top. Not without cheating. Even if Dumbledore didn't happen to be holding the Elder Wand.

That reminded him, he'd really have to retrieve the Cloak of Invisibility sometime-

He almost didn't dodge the nonverbal stunner that came at him, but he recovered his senses and deflected the disarmer, then wordlessly conjured a shield to intercept the three arrows Dumbledore had transfigured out of the grass blades at his feet. He must have been doing it while they were talking. Cunning, he'll admit to tha-

Dumbledore swished his wand, and what had to be five hundred more arrows suddenly shot in the air. "Well damn." They formed a nice circle around and above him. Son of a bitch, it wasn't just three grass blades. "You transfigured them with your wand and wandlessly disillusioned them as you paced throughout our conversation." Slowly, as though conceding the round, he crouched, letting his wand hang from his fingers, touching the ground. "Ready to commit homicide upon my person already? Didn't realize you hated me so much. And I've been told I'm a very loveable guy."

The old man eyed him shrewdly. "Do not think I did not realize what the point of all this is. You are using delaying tactics, nothing more. Your whole goal is to keep me away from the Dursley Home."

"Five points to Griffindor." The young one said drily, never letting the stream of transmuting magic –from his wand into the earth- weaken. "Whatever trip you intended to compel the Dursleys to take with Harry, it won't happen. Unless you had something more nefarious in mind?"

"I've just about had enough of you accusa-"

Regulus lunged to his feet, cutting the air in two but for the huge blanket of earth that tore from the ground in front of him, grass roots ripping like brambles off a dead tree. It shot into the air, soaring above him and flipping backwards, just as his wand tip had guided it. "Ardeo!" The fireball hurtled through the rushing air, just as the tongue of earth above once again fell under gravity's snare. Dumbledore sent the rain of arrows straight at him –by reflex or intent, he didn't know- and held out both wand and hand.

The earth blanket fell over Regulus Black before he could see how the old man would counter his fire. A silent _Duro_ rendered the earth hard enough to prevent the arrows from penetrating too much, and a release of magic blew the dome of dust and grass and roots apart. Immediately he was standing again, tracing magic through the air, lunging forward, off-hand extended and his wand spearing the air above his head, just as his opponent gestured in turn.

The arrows that were once trained on him all rushed towards the headmaster like a cloud of wood and steel. They clashed with a hastily but solidly conjured wall of stone. The rain of arrows lasted just enough for an unspoken cleaning charm to dislodge any and all dirt off him.

A whisper and a brief gale, the rumble of crumbling rock that disappeared into nothing, and both wizards were once again standing in front of each other, looking no worse for wear.

Then wands twitched, and spellfire began to fly.

Regulus had no illusons that he would win under normal conditions –_Percido, Percido, Protego, Stupefy_- and he didn't want to reveal his ability to ignore transportation wards –_Ardeo, Depulso, Bombarda Maxima_ crashed into a silver Aegis Fortis, with a loud gong- but winning wasn't the point.

Some said that two wizards could get to know each other just by crossing wands.

Regulus called bullshit on that.

So he made sure to carry a whole bunch of emergency portkeys for this confrontation, which would whisk him away under various conditions.

–_Avis, Fulmen, Adfixus Fulminis_. The birds were transfigured into sand, the lightning was intercepted by a dome of earth which was then turned to rock and shattered, banished in Regulus' direction. The Black Phantom met the charge with his own stampede of flying debris, but got some bruises from leftover rocks, though he whirled to the side to evade the worst of it-

Many of his portkeys were set to activate when someone spoke certain words, like Crucio, Imperio and Avada. A dozen others responded to the incantations of various other dark spells.

-Dumbledore conjured vines out of the earth. They were fast and eager, so Regulus created a maelstrom of fire around him and transfigured the ground at his feet into granite to prevent underground approach-

And because he had to deal with general danger and nonverbal casting somehow, he also had a bunch that activated based on his state. Like if he was unconscious or if he was in _mortal_ _peril_.

Based on which and how many of those portkeys activated by the end of this duel, he would know how far gone Albus Dumbledore really was. Actions always did speak louder than words.

Ordinarily, that last portkey would have activated when the cloud of arrows went at him, but he wasn't in real mortal danger because his ludicrously enchanted dragonhide battle equipment would have prevented penetration.

Now if only he knew whether or not Dumbledore realized the durability of his clothes when he sent those things at him…

Regulus increased his rate of casting progressively, and Dumbledore matched him every time. It was getting increasingly hard to counter the wizard without resorting to his trump card –unrestricted teleportation.

_Avis, Protego, Avis and Avis_ again. Then a fourth time, _spoken_, and there were a hundred ravens flying cawing and clawing at the bearded one. Dumbledore summoned the arrows that started the skirmish to him, but instead of using them against the birds he sent them at the other dueler. Regulus shifted his focus to another spell -which lifted another tongue of earth to act as a barrier- but that removed his control of the birds, which Dumbledore eradicated with a flaming lasso. Not a whip, a giant wall of fire that was two meters tall.

And which was coming straight at him like a house-tall wave rending the earth apart with a smoldering groan.

Regulus Black crouched, wand down. "Terra Motus!" And jumped. A mild featherweight charm, always second nature these days, had him soaring ten meters high before even two seconds elapsed. Below him, the ground shook, and the moment it took the older man to stabilize the earth around him was more than enough for him to stretch out his arm and grow a silver rapier over his wand.

One swing sent a crescent blade of silver fire, then a second followed, than a third and fourth, all before gravity began to slowly pull him down. He could work around that, but it was not yet the time.

Five, six, then a seventh crescent wave of force left his wand sword in a descending stream. Had he been younger, the other wizard might have bounded out of the way, but as it was the razor winds were too wide and fast to allow for that. His widest and toughest shield was required, so that was what he summoned, though the first two strikes managed to slightly bypass it, leaving tears on his sleeves and lower robe.

It was a translucent half-dome of silver light, much like his attacks. Regulus suspected Dumbledore would drop the shield and counterstrike just before he touched down, anticipating a potential momentary distraction.

He didn't disappoint. The bolt of lightning was almost too fast. Well, it _was_ too fast, but that didn't go for the lunge of his wand arm. And Regulus had already invoked a gust of wind that pushed him out of the way. The thunder made his ears ring, and the electrical charge fizzled against his robe as it barely missed, but did not stop his movement. His feet were back on the ground, his wand arm relaxed, rapier fading, and his off-hand lunging forth.

The strand of silk materialized from the runed bracer all the way almost immediately, dead-set on sticking to the Elder Wand. But Dumbledore managed to bring his other arm in its path.

The end of the strand spread like a spider web, clinging to the man's forearm. Regulus didn't really expect to be able to disarm Albus Dumbledore of all people, even _with_ that amount of surprise on his side, but there was nothing wrong with fantasizing. Well, not much.

A wave of the Elder Wand banished the silk, and Regulus used that time to send forth a bolt of spellfire, almost colorless.

Dumbledore saw it anyway and managed to -barely gracefully- dodge to the side. Alas, still holding him in his sights as he was, he didn't see said spell light strike a sphere of nothing right next to the tree line, causing a brief shimmer.

Excellent.

"Well," Regulus said brightly, still on one knee from his last action. "I believe I have learned enough." Maybe the old man wasn't hopeless, given the lack of portkey activation. He really wasn't trying to kill him or seriously harm him after all. Or maybe he just liked to play with his enemies, like Voldemort did. Regulus hoped it was his cynicism talking on that last one, not reality.

"Are you ready to stop this nonsense then?"

"Oh, I already have." Magic swirled around his feet and hands, then he jumped straight up.

And up and up.

The ascent ceased, but was not followed by the fall. The black cloak bearing the silver serpent flapped languidly in the wind, but the young wizard did not descend.

The beauty of featherweight charms was that they had _duration_. Which meant they did not have to be _maintained_. The missing link?

Wingardium Leviosa.

As far as wandless spells went, it was actually easier to cast than sticking charms.

And when the target of the spell was already as light as a feather, well…

Regulus Arcturus Black smiled crookedly, enjoying the expression between amazement and disbelief that finally cracked that easy-going façade that Albus Dumbledore always hid behind. "This forest is man-grown you know!" He shouted down at the old wizard as he began to fly away. "I believe there is a hunting lodge 20 miles in that direction!" Let it never be said that Regulus Arcturus Black was not a good sport.

Turning away on wings of will, he soared, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness and the feeling of the wind on his face. The steady flapping of his coat added flavor to the experience.

He wasn't skilled enough to actually cast while in flight –he lacked the necessary ability to split his concentration- but if it came down to it, he could just release the levitation and cast like crazy while he slowly fell at feather-speed. Why no one had thought of this before, he didn't know. He was already beating himself up over not coming up with the idea until one year after the war ended. It would have helped a lot during his tenure as The Black Phantom. Wizards were fools for not seeking the height of spiritual awareness needed to wandlessly cast these simple spells. Wingardium Leviosa was a first-year charm after all, the first any witch and wizard ever learned, no counting Lumos.

As he flew higher into the sky, he spared some thought to Dumbledore's predicament. Maybe it was cruel of him, but the old codger asked for it, and there were worse fates than being stuck in a forest for eight hours.

True, Dumbledore _might_ be able to find that invisible bludger before then, but he doubted it. The range of the anti-translocation cube inside it was three times greater than the range of the spell used to scan for wards, and he'd enchanted the invisible bludger to always circle him at 80% of the maximum distance. Maybe Fawkes would take pity on him and flash to his position to keep him company, although it may just make him more frustrated when said familiar refused to transport him away.

Chances were he would end up assuming the whole forest was warded somehow, or in some way _unnatural_ that teleporting away was impossible for whatever reason. He'd assumed plenty of unreasonable things in the past.

Once Regulus was high enough to touch the clouds, he breathed in deeply –air was thinner at that altitude- and looked below, at the tiny trees that made up Kielder Forest. Who knew, maybe a nice hike would do the misguided headmaster some good.

For Sirius' sake, and the sake of so many others, he hoped against hope it would happen.

But he didn't really have all day to float and ponder. He had some place to be.

A gale disturbed the cloud, but by that point the wizard had already vanished.

"-. .-"

Padfoot didn't really know what to expect when he finally made it into the house. It wasn't like he'd had time to make a plan. And dogs didn't really bother planning anyway. They trusted their instincts and their nose. And right then, they were both in agreement: catch up to Harry and find out what the hell was going on.

The paws wouldn't have made more than a soft sound against the wooden floor… if they lacked the claws. As it was, the charge of the black hound was well and truly noisy.

Padfoot didn't really care. Just like he didn't care about how he scraped the floor when he braced himself, abruptly ceasing his advance but for the inertia that carried him a bit too far down the hallway, a few feet past the door to the cupboard under the stairs, now closed shut. Instantly bounding in front of it, he began to scratch at the door, barking a few times. Some seconds passed and his attempts slowed down. Barks became softer whines, but the grim wasn't about to give up easily. He knew his godson was in there. He could smell him.

He frantically tried to look inside, but the cracks between the boards were too small, and he couldn't reach low enough to look underneath the door.

Increasingly distressed, the dog propped his forepaws on the door and began to whine and whimper pathetically. He needed to get in there! Or he needed Harry out! Right now! He couldn't do anything about whatever was wrong if he wasn't allowed to even see him.

A scared, childish, _tentative_ voice was heard, but Padfoot didn't understand it, not over the noise of his renewed efforts to claw through the wood. So he stopped and listened, whining softly with his wet nose touching the door.

"…Padfoot?"

The grim snorted, surprised and pleased, even as Sirius mentally staggered in shock. How in the world did he know that nickname?

"…Padfoot? Is… i-is that you?"

Sirius may have been shocked speechless, but Padfoot wasn't. He eagerly gave a bark, wagging his tail in restless anticipation.

It seemed like enough time passed for two universes to be born and to die, but then a latch was heard, and the door pried open the tiniest of cracks.

Despite Sirius' continued catatonia, Padfoot eagerly slipped around the ajar door, eager to see Harry again. He had time to see relief and fear pass over the boy's face several times, in sets of two, before said child lunged forward and grabbed him by the sides of his head. "Come in! Quick! Before he finds us!" And pulled him in, pulling the door shut as quick as he could.

Padfoot snorted in confusion, even as Sirius became more flabbergasted than he'd ever been in his life. For the second time in 10 minutes he could only wonder… what the hell was going on?

Before he knew it, the dog had been fully hauled inside the stuffy, cramped cupboard and Harry was fervently latching the inner door chain back on. Fear poured off the child in palpable waves as he moved, and it didn't fade in the least once he was done, or when he backed away, huddling as far away from the door as he could, pushing himself in the far corner.

Padfoot hated to see him that way, so he whined pitifully and crawled forward, nudging the little, scared-to-death boy in the chest, on the arms and on the forehead. After a while, Harry finally blinked and tore his eyes away from the light coming through the space beneath the cupboard entrance. He still looked like he expected some sort of monster to come claim him at any moment, but at least he was responding to the dog's persistent impetus.

Harry reached forward to stroke Padfoot's neck. His face crumpled, like there was no reason to hope for anything. "Looks like you found me after all, huh?" Inside the upset hound, Sirius was reeling. He didn't understand any of this. "But you… almost didn't, did you?" The boy's head lowered. Padfoot wondered if he should lick him on the face, but somehow it didn't feel like the right time.

A second later, he was proven right. Harry just barely eased away from the corner and hugged the large dog, burying the side of his face in Padfoot's fur. The grip was slack at first, but it steadily grew tighter, until Harry was hanging onto him for dear life.

Padfoot didn't know what to do, and deep inside him Sirius didn't either.

But it turned out that the situation was out of their hands. It didn't take long before Harry started to shake. Slowly in the beginning, but harder and harder with each second that ticked away. Sniffles became haggard gasps of air as tears spilled out and soaked the dog's black fur. And when the first choked sobs came out, Padfoot huddled closer, being in no position to do anything else.

Sirius wanted to cry too, but that wasn't how dog feelings worked, so instead he let his head drape over Harry's back and waited. The erratic shivers of the human boy's bony frame clashed with his canine heart rate, steadily leveling out. It didn't really make the situation any better, but at least it let the poor kid cry without feeling pain every time he tried to draw a breath.

Merlin's mercy. What had brought this on?

"I'b zo stubid-" Harry sobbed, bringing a sleeve to his nose, trying to clear it enough to at least stutter out actual words. "I'm so _stupid_-" Whatever he wanted to say was cut off by another gasping, trembling outpour of self-loathing.

Sirius didn't know where the hell it was coming from. Still with his chin on Harry's shivering back, Padfoot whined in confusion as his boy cried. And cried and _cried_.

"I alm- almost _bought_ it." Harry sniffed, trying to force his lungs to stop convulsing. "No matter how many tim- times it happens, I always _buy_ it." His grip on the dog was almost suffocating, but Padfoot willed himself to not let it show. He didn't know how long it lasted, how long he was in that death grip. He just knew that, as long as it was, it wasn't long enough for Sirius to finally make sense of anything that had happened.

They stayed like that for a while.

But eventually, the grip started to loosen. Slowly, but surely.

Then suddenly, Harry's embrace slackened. One arm slid off, fell to the mattress, palm-up, and only the other one held on, barely. Slowly tracing lines through the thick, smooth fur of the black grim. Lifting his head, Padfoot looked down at the half of Harry's face that wasn't buried in his hair. He saw only that same, dull stare Sirius had been treated to, half an hour earlier. Only the eye was half-closed.

Then his godson spoke, slowly, and to Sirius it felt like spikes of ice piercing his heart when Harry sounded just like his grandfather Pollux had, months before. "I... can't _do_ this anymore Padfoot…"

Sirius would have voiced his frustrated confusion if Padfoot didn't happen to only be capable of a soft sniff at that moment.

"I'm so stupid…" Harry murmured into the dog's fur again. Padfoot wanted to shout that he was in no way stupid, but dogs couldn't talk. Only whine. "Even though it happens every other week… Even though it's happened so often… I still buy into it each and every time. And this… I mean… " Harry laughed tearfully. Laughed at himself. At how _pathetic_ he was in his own eyes. "But hey, why _should_ I realize it right? Especially _this_ time!" The poor boy was brimming with self-ridicule. "Even though the dreams are the worst and longest on my birthdays, I still get fooled by _**him**_ each and every time."

Padfoot froze. He didn't feel emotions like humans, but Sirius was another matter, and the only feeling he could detect when those words were spoken was complete and utter, chilling _dread_.

Harry sighed. Tension had left him before. Now, it was as if life was leaving his muscles. "I can't do this anymore Padfoot… It's always getting harder and harder… Mom always sends you to get me, to hide me from him but…" Sirius could only listen in growing horror. "But this time…" His voice started to crack again. "This time s-she didn't even show up and... a-and you… y-you almost didn't find me at all!"

How he _wished_ he had arms at that moment. Sirius only wanted to gather his godson up and take him away from that horrible place. But he couldn't. Padfoot couldn't move aside, no matter how much they both wanted. Helpless, he could only sink deeper into the mind of the grim, to listen to his instincts again.

Padfoot laid his head on top of Harry's and waited.

Eventually, Harry's gaze drifted up, and his fallen hand came high, petting the dog on the snout. Padfoot moved his head lower, careful not to unbalance the human boy, and looked at the tear-stained child. The image was bleaker than it should have been, because of the near-darkness. "You know what the worst part is?"

A tilt of the head.

"Every time this happens… I want to wake up less and less…" Harry's hand fell to the ground again, and his eyes drifted away. Even if Sirius' state of mind could show on a dog's face, Harry would not have seen it, staring at nothing as he was. "Even though I know the nightmare is never far… The dreams…" His voice was so hoarse, it was painful to listen to. "They always start out so _well_, you know? They always… And I just want to…" He shut his eyes as tears spilled yet again. His nose started to run like before, but it wasn't enough to make him stop. "It seemed so _real_… The man, he… he seemed so _nice! _I don't _want_ to b-believe it's all j-just a trick, l-like the other times. B-but if I go back out, I know I'll j-just see something horrible happen to him! It's always the same!"

Padfoot reacted. He nearly growled. Nearly. That he managed –barely- to not startle Harry was an incredible feat. Sirius struggled, revolted, wanted _out_ but still Lily wouldn't let him-

Lily…

Gods above, what did she have to deal with? What _was_ all this…?

Magic strained as Sirius Black's rage threatened to overtake him, hand-in-hand with the self-loathing he thought he'd moved past. All the years he languished in Azkaban, Harry was struggling against the soul shard of that madman, and all that time it was _Lily_ that was looking after him. Even in death, she took care of her son better than he, the Godfather responsible for him, the godfather who was _supposed_ to care for him if anything happened, wasn't around to do it because of his own _rash_ _stupidity_.

Merlin, he'd failed him. He'd failed them. So _utterly_.

And despite all of that, it was still _Padfoot_ that Lily sent to retrieve Harry whenever that bastard Voldemort started to cause him grief. He didn't deserve her faith in him. Her faith that, one day, he'd actually come, and Padfoot wouldn't be just a nice thing in a dream anymore. She should have sent Prongs. Harry should have had his dad, even if he never recognized him for who he was.

"I don't know what to do, Padfoot…" The tired whisper almost wasn't loud enough to snap Sirius back to attention. Fortunately, Padfoot was much more aware. "If I stay here, I know I'll eventually hear Aunt Petunia rapping on the door and I'll wake up… But there's nothing to really look forward to if I do…" Sirius' heart clenched. Damn those Dursleys. Damn Dumbledore for putting him with them. Damn himself for running off after revenge. And damn Voldemort's tainted soul for killing James and Lily in the first place! "And If I go back out, even if this ends like every other dream... and even if something bad happens… If I just get to spend a bit more time with that man, It'd be worth it... Even if it's not real, he…" He sniffed, rubbing his eyes. "His name is Sirius, did you know?" Carefully, the little boy wizard reached up to touch the star map Padfoot only now saw, glued to the top of the cupboard. "Sirius… Like my favorite star." Padfoot's stomach flipped. "The brightest star in the sky. He said he came here for me. Maybe he'll really take me away, and I won't have to wake up in my cupboard anymore." But then something made Harry's eyes fog over, and his expression lost all hope again. "What am I saying? I pushed him away… I hurt him. Made him hit his head. I really am stupid, to think he'd still want me after that…"

It was like a switch had been pressed. Total calm and surety of one's next course of action. It wasn't the reaction you were supposed to have when learning the person you love most in the world basically wants to die in their sleep, but that was precisely what Sirius felt. Because as soon as he heard that, he understood exactly what he should do.

With a wordless whisper of reassurance and _faith_ in him, Lily left his awareness, and the lock that kept Padfoot to the forefront dissolved, freed him of the binds of will Sirius belatedly realized he'd agreed to, in some form or other. Lily had asked him to follow her lead, to _trust_ her, and he _had_.

No regrets.

Padfoot pushed forward, driving Harry as far into the corner as he could. He didn't spare much attention to the confused boy. He was more focused on measuring the size of the space they were in. But soon, the hound eyed Harry directly, intensely, and sat on his haunches, lifting his forepaws and settling them over the kid's shoulders. It was the best position he could find in those conditions.

It would be a tight fit but…

Closing his eyes, Padfoot slid back, and Sirius took his place. It was the slowest transformation he'd ever gone through, rivaled only by his first, but this time it was by design. Forelegs blurred into arms that encompassed a much smaller frame. They enveloped a startled child, and the rest of the grim shimmered, changed before a mesmerized and fearful pair of green eyes, until there was no more dog left. Only a man, barely fitting in that small space alongside the much smaller tenant of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Pulling away as much as the cupboard allowed, Sirius black eyed his frozen godson evenly. The godson who must have thought _**he**_ had gotten to him in his safe place at last. He could have said any one of hundreds of things, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled back his right arm, hand closed. Then opened it.

_Lumos._

The unspoken incantation birthed a spark of ever shining white light. It may as well have been a star in that small, enclosed space. And a star it became, lifting higher, until it settled in the center of the cosmic map.

Sirius shone with true light for the first time.

Leaning back as far as he was allowed, Sirius Orion Black pulled his godson close to his chest, wrapped him in his arms like a cocoon and settled his chin on the top of his messy-haired head. "Cry."

It was as if Harry James Potter hadn't been doing that very thing for most of the past hour.

"-. .-"

Whatever Regulus Arcturus Black expected upon returning to Number 4 Privet Drive, finding Sirius crammed in the cupboard under the stairs, hugging the living lights out of his inconsolable godson, was _not_ it. Even _after_ the people conducting surveillance told him of Harry's rather… abrupt… reaction and flight from the scene.

The Black Phantom stood there, staring at the sight behind the cupboard door he'd rendered transparent. He was definitely going to nag a memory out of his brother as soon as possible. He wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him, since he didn't really seem to empathize with the grief pouring out of that small space… but then remembered Fawkes' fire and the heavenly song that was with him still.

So the wizard decided to prop his back against the side of the door to the living room and wait calmly, _serenely_, for as long as it took.

His patience was rewarded some minutes later, when Harry was finally out of tears and too tired to keep sobbing away. Maybe now those two would _finally_ get around to actually _communicating-_

Sirius waved a hand.

Harry fell asleep.

…

Because _that_ wasn't weird at _all!_

Sirius gingerly opened the cupboard door and slid out from under the child, but left him there for some obscure reason. And as soon as he was out –though not standing yet- he waved a hand over Harry. The transfigured castoffs returned to their normal, shoddy state, and the light on the so-called ceiling went out.

Then Sirius Black got to his feet and closed the cupboard door with a click.

Five.

"Sirius." Regulus tried, dubiously. He _knew_ Sirius had to have known he was there ever since he arrived. He had a magical scan active all the time these days.

Four.

"Uhm."

Three.

"Uhm, brother?"

Two.

"…"

One.

Sirius violently rapped on the still transparent door.

Poor Harry jolted awake so fast and so suddenly that he almost hit his head against the book shelf above his head.

What the hell?

Then Sirius rapped on the door again, just as hard and impatiently.

"I'm up!" Harry called out, some surprise painting his face at noticing his hoarse voice and runny nose, and the presence of his glasses already on his face. "Coming Aunt Petunia!" He nonetheless said obediently.

Sirius took two steps away from the door and waited.

With amazing efficiency, Harry wiped his face to gain some semblance of normalcy, blew his nose in a handkerchief hidden between his English and history books, and straightened his clothes. It was all so routine. Regulus was almost dumbfounded. Almost. That had barely taken 4 seconds.

Then, at last, the boy opened the door and stumbled out.

Only to freeze, eyes looking like they would pop out, when he saw who, instead of his aunt, was in the hallway.

Sirius and Harry just stared.

Regulus couldn't help himself. He unlatched himself from the doorway and walked around, to see at least part of his brother's face. Harry didn't even seem to realize he existed. Or if he did, he didn't care.

How rude!

"So tell me, Harry," Sirius spoke, evenly. "Are you awake?"

And just like that, Regulus began to understand what his brother was doing.

Harry numbly nodded, though it wasn't clear if he really understood the question.

Sirius obviously shared that thought, because he got to one knee and pulled the glasses off Harry's nose. "I'm not sure you understand," he told the still frozen boy. A hand waved over the spectacles made the dust puff away and the glass shine. _That_ managed to make Harry blink in shock and realization. "I asked-" Sirius placed the glasses back on Harry's nose and flicked his right wrist, calling his wand to his hand. "-If you're awake." A wave of the wooden rod, and Dudley's castoffs changed for the second time that day, to a green shirt and red pants. "Are you awake Harry?"

The poor boy stared at Sirius, open-mouthed. Regulus rather empathized with him. His mind had been totally blown several times in just one hour and a half.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow as he reholstered his wand. "You know, it's only polite to answer when someone asks you a question."

That made the boy's whole body jerk, his brain rebooting. "Yes!"

Sirius looked back. "Yes what?"

"Yes I'm… I'm awake…" It sounded more like he'd finally realized something, after a long, long time.

His brother's smile was infectious and wide. The biggest, most sincere expression of joy he'd seen him apply since getting out of Azkaban Prison. But he didn't speak again. He just opened his arms and waited.

Harry hesitated for just a moment before throwing himself at him.

Regulus breathed a sigh of relief and drunk in the sight. For all that Sirius and Harry had proven themselves to be even bigger drama queens than he himself was, at least that whole mess had concluded on a positive note.

He lingered there until he could no longer dismiss the feeling that he was intruding on something private and discretely summoned the star map from the "roof" of the cupboard. Then he turned on his heel –an existential shift- and proceeded to walk down the main hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. His steps were sure, his path well known. Past the kitchen and parlor doors, up the stairs all the way to the third floor. A lazy wave of his hand soon had a metal plaque flying at him. He caught it deftly and traced his wand over it in precise strokes. The transfiguration was complete just as he reached the door to the room that he was on his way towards.

He slapped the plaque on the door with a loud thud as he opened it, and when he let go and kept walking, the chrome metal plaque remained affixed, perfectly aligned and visible. They'd styled it to read _Harry's Room_ but after seeing what he'd just seen, he rather felt it was more appropriate to call it _Harry's Observatory_.

He didn't need more than a passing glance to refamiliarize himself with the room. He'd helped set it up after all, and now he confirmed his initial concern. It was too large, and the transition might be too sudden for comfort.

Fortunately, that was easily solved. The room would stay as big as it was, because Harry deserved space to himself. Turning the four-poster bed into a nice, smaller refuge though… _that_ was easy. A few wand strokes, and the large curtains loosened, surrounding the four-poster bed completely, save for the one side Harry would use to climb on it. A whispered incantation made it so that it only took touching the bedpost and saying "Good Night" for the last curtain to fall into place, and "Good Morning" for it to fold away.

After pondering for a moment, he cast a charm on the mattress to be just marginally more comfortable than the one in the cupboard. That way, Harry wouldn't suffer from lack of sleep because of the sharp change in comfort level. He'd seen it happen.

The charm would fade gradually, until the mattress was as soft as it was meant to be.

After thinking for another moment, Regulus also changed the inside color of the curtains from Griffindor Red to night black. It would go perfectly with the star map, which he enlarged and affixed to the upper panel with a solid sticking charm. Another spell gave the stars their own light, and so the observatory was complete. A bit crude perhaps, but it _was_ just for one night. They'd be going elsewhere the next day, and they'd make sure to style this room afterwards, as soon as Harry gained enough courage to actually form and express his own opinions.

Not having anything better to do, the young wizard kept on making minor changes to the layout and coloring of that room (suite really, it would probably intimidate Harry, but he was a brave kid and would handle it, probably).

But before he knew it, the wards in the manor notified him of the coming of the Head of House.

It was actually sooner than he expected them to arrive.

A minute later, Sirius finally walked through the still open doorway, a sleeping Harry nestled in his arms. He tried to send Regulus a wry grin, but it wasn't enough to fool him. There was too much delight, relief and sheer joy on his elder brother's face for that to work. "Go on." He murmured. "I took the liberty of making some changes. Maybe the familiarity will help for the first night. Or, well, _day_ I suppose."

Sirius didn't need to voice his gratitude. Carefully, he made his way to the bed, obviously reluctant to let Harry out of his arms, but unsure if settling in bed alongside him wasn't taking things too far too fast.

Luckily for him, little Harry took that decision out of his hands. He'd latched onto his robes and didn't seem to want to let go, even in sleep. Sirius could only glance at him, sheepish.

"Kreacher." The elf appeared with a nearly inaudible pop, correctly assuming the need for discretion just from the low-key call of his Master Regulus. "Get some sleepwear for Lord Black, as well as one of the child-sized sets we bought yesterday."

The elf disappeared and returned a moment later with a stack of gold-and-red clothing. Regulus took them and shook his head. Ever the Griffindor.

Once he was close enough, he drew some invisible lines in the air above the change of clothing. The switching spell worked as intended, and immediately the older of the youngest generation of Blacks was ready to lie down, and the 8-year-old was clad in soft silk clothes. "I'll get these cleaned up," the younger Black told him, turning to leave.

"Reggie…" Gods, how he disliked that nickname. He'd let it go, just this once, but any other slips and there would be hell to pay.

"Yes?" he craned his neck, not quite managing to conceal his annoyance. Did Sirius really have to kill the moment?

"Thank you."

… apparently not. With those two words, his brother had just thanked for so much, much more than that. Dammit, the idiot was supposed to have realized he didn't owe him anything by now.

"Don't call me Reggie." Was the best thing he could think of. Lovely. _Now_ who was it that killed the moment?

"Okay."

Silence.

Well… that was unexpected.

Feeling awkward, Regulus Black resumed his trek towards the door, followed by Kreacher who hadn't popped away for some reason. The elf was looking from him to the bundle that still clung to Sirius, even from beyond the borders of the land of dreams. "Master Regulus!" Kreacher whispered furtively. "Has Lord Black spawned?"

He couldn't suppress the startled laugh.

Hurriedly, he walked out of the room before Sirius could ask him about it and motioned for the house-elf to hurry as well, which Kreacher did very quickly once he realized he was impeding his Master's progress -Bad elf!- The last thing he saw before he closed the door was Sirius finally settling to get some sleep of his own, sleep he hadn't gotten for the past two nights. He was on his side, with Harry held close like a teddy bear. An adorable, loveable, clingy…

… skinny teddy bear.

Regulus Arcturus Black sighed. There would be time enough to fix that later –they had the entire nutrient regimen already planned out- but for now, it was time for a day of respite. It was a _good_ day, and he'd do everything possible to keep it that way.

For everyone involved.

On that note, he strode downstairs, made his way to the entrance hall and disapparated without actually going out the door. He had quite a few people to visit, just as many to thank, and even more to have a drink with before the day was out.


	20. Chapter 19: Gaze, Don't Stare

**A/N:** Well, I WAS going to only post one more chapter, but I realized it was getting really, really long so I split it in half. I suppose this means you're getting TWO more chapters before the Epilogue, instead of one.

That I really want for this fanfiction to at least break the 400 review mark had no bearing whatsoever on this decision.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Gaze, Don't Stare**

"-. .-"

Harry James Potter awoke to total darkness.

Or, well, _near_ total darkness. But that wasn't so shocking. It was always like that, especially when he ended up on his left side in the mornings, facing away from the entrance, the only light source other than the inactive light bulb. After a moment to get his bearings, the boy closed his eyes and sighed. He'd been so _sure_ this time it hadn't been just…

Figures. He always did buy it.

Briefly, he wondered if he should just go back to sleep, but it might not be a good idea. He'd just be drowsier –useless boy!- when Aunt Petunia rapped on the cupboard door to wake him up later. Opening his eyes, he looked for the telltale red of the electronic clock… but didn't spot it anywhere.

Confused, but still not altogether free of the fog of sleep, the boy scrunched his eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong. Something about his cupboard was weird. Huh. Only one way to figure out what it was.

He didn't even have to look for it. The motion of reaching for the string that turned on his little light bulb was so practiced that he could do it blind…

So one could imagine the surprise when his right hand didn't find any string. Instead, his small arm kept going until it hit the soft duvet.

Harry blinked, staring up at the star map. Something was off. His cupboard shouldn't big enough for him to stretch over his mattress so far. What in the world…

Then he noticed it. The star map wasn't as close as it should be. He reached up, not coming even close to touching it. The stars _seemed_ as big as they were the previous night, when he stuck it to the cupboard top but… that was because it had become _larger_.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Could it really-?

Then he noticed that whatever light he could see didn't come from any creak in the door, or through the space beneath it. It came from the stars themselves. He almost couldn't believe his own eyes. Hesitantly, Harry pushed himself up and looked down. Tiny white dots, the stars themselves, littered the bed –he was in a _bed_- and they didn't move when the cover did –the cover of an actual _bed_, bloody _hell!_- and made it look as though he was somewhere, nestled in a crib in outer space –in an actual _bed_, his mind kept repeating. He'd _never_ been allowed in a bed. Even at Miss Figg's he napped on a couch, if he got the chance to sleep at all, or if the smell of cabbage was weak enough to let him. Beds weren't for _freaks_ like him-

_"They're not freaky." _The voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, making Harry's eyes bug out. His mind _finally_ realized what it all _meant_, and his emotions responded all at once, clashing, merging, stumbling over each other until he didn't really feel anything, besides overwhelmed enough that he fell back and just laid there, staring in disbelief at the soft light of the stars.

It _had_ all happened.

Then his face started to burn. Holy crap! He'd cried all over Mr. Baron –no, _Sirius_ _like the star_- and he was pretty sure his nose had been running the entire time. Gods, he'd covered Mr. Black's clothes in snot. Eew…

…and made him hit his head. Where was he? That he wasn't there… had the hit to the head been worse than he thought? Sheer terror struck him, that he'd somehow managed to hurt the one person that came for him-

-Then he jerked his head, shutting his eyes when he realized how stupid he was being again. What the hell was he thinking? Of _course_ he wouldn't be there. What did he expect, to wake up in the same bed with him? That would have been weird and inappropriate.

Sure, he wouldn't have _minded_ something like that at all, but that wasn't important.

After spending a few minutes trying to get a hold of himself, Harry hesitantly began to crawl to the side of the bed. He absently noted that the bed was four times as large as his whole cupboard and was surrounded by four tall posts, and black curtains that seemed to flow out of the night sky above.

This was it. As soon as he moved the curtain out of the way, he'd have to face the reality that he wasn't just daydreaming a fantasy.

Gripping the curtain with more confidence that he felt, he pulled it out of the way, to the left.

Then he yelped and crawled back, startled, when it kept going, slid aside the rest of the way on its own. It hadn't been abrupt, but it _moved on its own_.

With his mouth slightly open from disbelief, Harry crawled towards the edge of the bed again, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the now still curtain, until he was just next to his pillow –a huge thing, how he hadn't noticed it until then he didn't know.

Once he finally jumped off the bed –tall enough that it reached higher than the level of his chest- he hesitantly took a look around, blinking dumbly at the size of the place. It was bigger than the Dursleys' living room, and much better furnished. Sure, the furniture looked as if it came from, like, a _century_ ago, but the style was the same everywhere and it all fit so _well_. Paintings on the wall, beautiful sculpted ornaments dividing the walls into tiles, cream-colored wallpaper with little… golden balls with wings? Or were they birds? There was even a nightstand right next to him, with his glasses –which he put on- and a mechanical alarm clock showing the hour, 9:43, almost four hours later than when his Aunt Petunia usually woke him up to start breakfast.

Funny. He'd never realized how much better rested he would be if allowed to wake up on his own.

Well, that was assuming it _was_ morning. He'd fallen asleep… when _had_ he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered was Sirius –his _godfather_, Harry remembered with wonder- hugging him, and him starting to bawl his eyes out like a crybaby _again_ –as if it wasn't enough that he'd cried on him for almost a whole hour before, when he was Padfoot.

That stopped him short. He was _Padfoot_. Padfoot was _real_. Not just someone his mom sent when she appeared in his dreams to deal with the-

No. He wouldn't think about that.

Mulishly, he took some deliberate steps away from the bed and looked around, searching for a window. Ah, there it was, on the other side of the room… beyond the bed.

Harry gaped like a fish, almost forgetting to register that the light streaming in through the curtains meant it was, indeed, morning. He could scarcely believe there was _another_ half a room there. He'd thought the bed was in the corner, but it wasn't. Just the head of it touched a wall –the middle of the wall- and the room was actually larger than he thought. It was _huge_. Like in a _mansion_. He was in a _mansion_.

A memory tickled the edge of his thoughts then. _"Old man Charlus agreed to Harry because it was essentially a form of Henry, which he said would sound perfect when you had to be announced at balls and the like."_

Balls. Only two kinds of people attended balls. Important people and…

And _rich_ people. Holy shit! Aunt Petunia would wash his mouth out with soap just for _thinking_ that word, but his godfather was _rich_. There were three doors leading from that room alone, for crying out loud!

Trying to stave off the reaction _that_ realization was bound to wheedle out of him, Harry moved his eyes to the wall across from the bed. There was a large painting of a forest clearing there, with a cottage overgrown by ivy. He nearly staggered in shock when a couple of lovebirds flew off a tree branch near the frame and went all the way to an apple tree next to the little house.

Walking away, he almost bumped into the edge of a chest of drawers, and dodged around a large, bronze-gilded sofa. At least he _thought_ it was bronze. His knowledge of metals and stuff wasn't on the same level as his astronomy.

That left him near one of the less ornate doors. He assumed the one all the way over there, on the window-less wall, was the main entrance to the room, but he was still leery of it. But since he'd managed to stumble his way to this one, he may as well see what's beyond it.

Reaching up, he gripped the door handle –not knob- and pulled. He expected a screech of some sort, but none came. The door opened just fine, to a sparkling white bathroom. There was white stone on the floor –harry didn't know what sort- and the walls were just as white, tiled. Oddly, they seemed made of wood, but there was no mold anywhere.

There was a porcelain toilet and sink, plus a mirror with a not so simple golden frame above it, on the wall. Harry noticed with some pleased surprise that there was a set of movable stairs he could climb to reach the taller facilities. Even the large bathtub if he wanted. It had a shower and a curtain for when he wanted to get cleaned fast.

Feeling surprisingly brave, he wandered in. The floor was cool against his bare feet, but not uncomfortable. Belatedly, he realized that he actually needed to use the facilities, so that's what he did.

Once he flushed the toilet, he dutifully went to the sink to wash his hands. The stair platform let him reach it just fine, and as he went about his business, he laid eyes on something that looked like a pack of chewing gum.

Perplexed, he picked it up to inspect it. The orange paper had been torn at one end, but the writing was still intact. _Chase off morning breath in just five seconds with Zonko's mouth-watering Gilded Gum! The best kiss in your life is just one chew away!_ Harry blushed, but couldn't stop the childish curiosity from overcoming the wary caution he'd gained after years at the Dursleys. Pulling one of those gum cubes out, he inspected its neon green color with some trepidation… before shrugging and chugging it in his mouth.

He only chewed it once when he realized that he should have taken the words on the label _literally_.

The gheiser that spouted from his mouth sent him careening backwards. Seconds later, he was on his back, sputtering, spitting out the foam that seemed to never end. Frantic, he rolled over and jumped back, still gagging, only to hit his elbow in the corner or one of the little, draggable stairs he'd fallen off. "YeoOW!" He shrieked none too manly, when he hit his nerves and felt a jolt through his whole body. Neon-green foam flew out of his mouth like drunken pixies during a one-night stand.

Falling all over the floor again, he waited helplessly for the sputtering to stop, dimly wondering how it was that the fall, from that height, to what was obviously a very hard surface hadn't hurt him at all.

Finally, the stuff in his mouth vanished, leaving his mouth clear.

It tasted like mint.

It pissed him off.

After patting himself down and finding his new pajamas clean and dry, he pulled himself together. Slowly, Harry climbed to his feet, his scowl the absolute expression of childish petulance. He glared at the area of the floor where he'd struggled for his life against the now vanished demonic chewing gum. It was utterly clean. Spotless and sparkling.

It was mocking him.

Trying to act as though he had more important business than the patch of floor, he turned his glare on the sink and the mirror above it. The foam covered it fully, and it was like someone had used a finger to write the words "Next time, keep your mouth shut!"

Harry could only react with a deadpan stare.

And when he was finally coming around, wondering if there were any rags to clean that up, that foam vanished as well.

Deciding that he had no way to deal with this insanity, Harry turned around and walked out of the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster. Only _after_ he closed the door, did he allow himself to slide down against it and hug himself, thankful no one was there to see. That had been _scary_.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and decided to chance the other door. Maybe if he was really careful not to touch anything, nothing bizarre would take him by surprise like that.

"Stop slouching!"

"Gah!" Harry jumped out of his skin and rounded on… the man-sized mirror he'd dismissed as nice but irrelevant during his initial scan of the chamber. There was a weird, mask-like face in it, peering at him with crinkled, sight-less eyes.

"Really dear!" It wounded like one of those uppity women from beauty salons. At least that was the only thing he could think of as a comparison. He'd only ever heard one talking when the Dursleys were watching a film in the living room one night. "Stop walking as though you have a hunched back! It casts too much shadow on your eyes." The tragedy mask shifted from annoyed to curious. "I said straighten up!" Harry did it, used to orders from the life he'd had up to that point. "As I suspected." The aloof face suddenly became a far-too-star-struck one. "Your eyes are _gorgeous_, dear! Gorgeous! Even those horrible spectacles can't ruin them, oh no! And that _hair_! It's just rowdy enough to make women swoon! I mean look at _me_! Oh, if only I had a body to go with my wonderful personality, I'd-"

"Er… right." Harry carefully backed away, leaving… her… to her ongoing rant. What was this place? Was the house haunted?

Wishing he knew how to become invisible, the boy finally turned to the door he was heading towards. Was this really wise? The bathroom had _seemed_ harmless enough at first, and look how _that_ turned out.

No, he told himself firmly. Sirius wouldn't have let him in that room to wake up, _alone_… no, it didn't matter. With another deep breath, Harry told himself that Sirius wouldn't have put him in that room if it wasn't safe. So far, things had been weird, but he hadn't gotten _hurt_, exactly.

Reaching up, he opened the door to find…

A walk-in closet. Huh. It was pretty empty actually. Clean and no dust in sight, but empty… who cared! There was a walk-in _closet_. Holy cheese, Sirius must be _loaded_.

Since there seemed to be no point to going inside, he closed the door and went to explore the rest of the room. He took his time too, knowing it was probably silly of him, but he was still hesitant to approach the main door.

One fireplace, a vanity, one trunk (at the foot of the bed) and a bird perch later, the clock showed 10:05, and Harry knew he could either sit there quietly and wait for someone to get him, or go meet his destiny early. Feeling surprisingly adventurous – he could sense that reassuring warmth he associated with his mother at the back of his mind – he decided to go through the door. After all, if they wanted him to stay there, they probably locked the door anyway.

Click.

The door came open. Huh.

Hesitantly, Harry opened it fully, to find himself in a surprisingly tall corridor. There was green wallpaper and mahogany paneling on the walls, and there were a bunch of other doors, evenly spaced, like his. Harry looked around as he closed the door behind him, comparing the doors to the one he'd just come through. It was the only reason he spotted the plaque that read "Harry's Observatory."

The boy froze, unbelieving. While he _had_ considered, earlier, the idea that it was his room, the size of it and later adventures made him think it wasn't, couldn't be all for him. Maybe Sirius had let him sleep in the master room for whatever reason. It was nice to believe someone would let them sleep in their bed. It hadn't been just one time that he woke in the night, wishing he could run to someone after a nightmare, only to be met with yells from Uncle Vernon to keep quiet and stop waking them in the night.

Unsure if he should feel astonished or disappointed, Harry tried not to think about it and looked around again. There, at the end of the corridor was probably the master bedroom. The double door made it pretty clear. The other end though… opened to a staircase.

Harry stared. There was a staircase. There was a _staircase_. Which meant the house was even bigger than he initially thought. Could it all really be happening to _him?_ It seemed too good to be true…

Acting on impulse, Harry made his way to the staircase hall. It was large, and he forced his fear away in order to look down, between the balusters of the railing. He could only boggle at the height. There were three floors, and he was right at the top. Pulling his eyes away, he noted the existence of another corridor, like the one he'd come out of, right across from the railed gap in the floor. Of course! The stairs _would_ be placed in the middle of the house.

Right. So it really was a mansion.

Somewhat dazed, Harry made his way down the first flight of stairs, holding onto the balusters all the while. After the… incident in the bathroom… he wasn't taking any chances.

The second floor was different. Half of it was a single, huge open space with windows making up the whole wall. It must have been a living room or game room of some sort. The other half were rooms, all with their doors closed. The staircase cut through the center of it all, not walled off in the least. Not like it needed it. There was no wear and tear to complain about.

Feeling awkward, he decided to go down another flight of stairs.

The first floor staircase room resembled the third in that it was walled off. Well, sort of. There were three doors. One was closed, right in front of the stairs themselves. The other two were open, and made Harry unconsciously walk as silently as possible. They were right across from each other, but cut off from view by the stairs coming from above.

Hesitantly, Harry peered into the first room when he got to the door. Because it wasn't a corridor. It was a single, huge room, with a tapestry covering every inch of the walls and ceiling. The branches and roots of trees that seemed alive were everywhere. Curiosity piqued, Harry Potter advanced into the near-empty room, looking more closely at the walls. There were leaves on the tree branches, but no flowers. Instead, there were the heads of people, sometimes one and sometimes too, with their names written on what looked like parchments, right beneath each face.

There were loads of names of people he'd never heard before, but he realized what he was looking at when he laid eyes on the grandly depicted banner on the emerald ceiling. Like a large thunderbird painted on a shield, and around it written: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Suddenly, Harry felt very, very small. He'd become the ward of a nobleman.

Not knowing how that made him feel, the boy returned to his inspection of the walls. Ignoring the ones that had two years underneath –he wasn't looking for dead people at this point- he tried to locate the ones that came for him. He found Lucretia, Andromeda, Marius, Bellatrix and Cedrella. Then on the other wall were Callidora, Narcissa, Arcturus, Pollux. Some of them even had a second head glued to theirs –spouses, he deduced.

It was a big family. _Family_. It made something flutter in his stomach. Maybe those stories about butterflies were true.

But where were… ah. He hadn't been looking high enough. There was Regulus, and even higher was Sirius. Sirius even had a circle made of something like silver around his spot on the tapestry. He wondered what it meant. Maybe he was important somehow? More than the others?

Feeling inexplicably better, he tried to see if there were any other names of people still alive before moving on. One head drew his attention: Walburga Black. Dead but with a circle of black thorns around her. Whatever could it mean? And was she Sirius' mother?

It was times like this he wished there was a legend somewhere, like on atlases. Oh well.

There, Pollux, Arcturus and Cassiopeia. Huh. Old people. _Really_ old people. Come to think of it, lots of the people still alive on the tapestry seemed old. And there was no one near his age –WAIT! Over here. Under Andromeda Black and Theodore Tonks: Nymphadora Tonks. Harry snickered, He couldn't help it. The name was hilarious.

Going by her birth year, she was around 15. Harry sighed in disappointment. Still too old to play with babies like him apparently. Oh well, not like he needed kids his age. Most of them always proved to be bullies or too afraid of his weirdness, or Dudley…

Wait.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

No. More. Dudley.

Harry cried out in delight, then slapped his hands over his mouth, mortified. But still! No more Dudley! No more getting set up for punishments, no more scaring kids off and no more Harry Hunting! He almost started crying again just because of that, but he stubbornly held himself back. He'd already cried like a little baby the previous day. Man, what must have Sirius thought about him?

Immersed in that thought as he was, he didn't register exiting the room. Only when he walked around the staircase and reached the other one did he emerge from his muddled mind. Taking a deep breath (he seemed to be doing that a lot), he slowly pressed against the wall and peered inside.

He almost pulled back and pressed himself against the wall.

It was an office, but it wasn't empty. And he wasn't talking about the furniture, though it _did_ look pretty nice. Like everything else in that home. A fireplace across the room from the desk, with a sofa and two armchairs surrounding it. It looked more like a small lounge really. But there was a desk right under the window, with just enough room for a leather chair. A bookcase was nearby.

And an old grandpa sitting at the desk and reading some papers, occasionally dotting down things with a pen. White-haired and clean shaven. Completely different from the horrible image his aunt's horror stories had built about old, decrepit people that were only good for making a mess.

Just seeing him sit and work with almost a smile on his face demolished that image aunt Petunia's gossiping had created, and Miss. Figg had enforced. Harry just peeked for a while. He was torn. He didn't want to interrupt the man, not when he seemed to be on a roll and in such a good mood. On the other hand, he was a bit lost, and was feeling a bit hungry too. Maybe… maybe he wouldn't be mad if he spoke up? He even looked familiar…

Which was when Harry almost slapped himself on the forehead. Of _course_ he would seem familiar. He was the one that… brought the police to arrest his relatives at Privet Drive the previous day. Bloody hell, it really had happened. It was odd, after that excitement, to see him so immersed in his work. And what was he doing here anyway? Wasn't he with that… that huge scary guy? Then again, he _did_ resemble Sirius a bit. Maybe… maybe he was a relative too? A nice one, not like his aunt and uncle. He'd had them tossed in prison for crying out loud!

_Okay Harry_, he thought to himself. _Okay. You can do this. Just open your mouth and… and __**say**__something…_ But he still remembered what happened the last time he did that, and it had been just like this, after wandering where he wasn't supposed to.

"You should try gazing."

Gasp.

Harry pulled back and pressed himself against the wall so fast he hit the wood paneling with a hard thump. He could barely breathe through the lump in his throat, and it didn't matter that he'd inflicted the hit on himself. All of a sudden, he wasn't in the new house anymore. Instead, he was back in Privet Drive, on that one night when he snuck out of his cupboard and peeked around the edge of the door into the living room, while his relatives were watching a late evening TV show. He'd just turned five, not that anyone noticed, and he thought that maybe, just that one time, he'd be allowed to watch something with them.

Harry shut his eyes and brought his hands to his ears, trying to block the memory to no avail. It was Dudley that spotted him, and the voices of his aunt and uncle mixed together as they both snapped and yelled at him. It wouldn't have been so bad if that was all that had happened, and even the outer locks that appeared on his door the next day would have been bearable, but he'd just had a great dream the previous night –he'd met his _mom,_ and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever _seen_- and had somehow gotten it into his head that he deserved better than he got.

And then he just had to open his mouth and say that he wanted to watch the telly a bit, since it was his birthday and he deserved at least that much, just that once.

For some reason, his relatives didn't seem to remember the beating they gave him that night. Well, the beating uncle Vernon gave him. But Harry did. And he always would.

Phantom pain lanced through him, but he grit his teeth. _Stay there, don't make a sound and pretend that you don't exist_. He breathed in, then out, then again, silently but deeply. Like the other times this happened, he kept his eyes shut, his breathing even, and recited in his head the definition of his state of health._ Flashback: a sudden, clear memory of a past event or time, usually one that was bad._

Well, it _wouldn't_ happen again. So long as he stayed quiet and no one noticed what was happening, nothing _further_ would happen. So long as he made sure his aunt and uncle didn't see him like this they wouldn't remember the beating and do it again. He'd just have to keep mentally reciting the definitions and it would all go away on its own. _Panic attack: a sudden period of severe anxiety in which your heart beats fast, you have trouble breathing and you feel as if something very bad is going to happen._

The office window shattered inward.

The images of the past were blown away by the weight of the present. With unnatural quickness, his gasps stopped, his breath stilled to an incredible degree, though it stayed ragged, and so did the rest of him. The fog clouding his vision dispersed, leaving behind the clear image of the green carpet. The voices of his relatives, yelling and jeering, were replaced by utter silence and approaching footsteps.

Harry shut his eyes. Just his luck that his freakishness would go out of control at a time like this.

A large hand settled on his head, mussing his hair. Then a second one gently pried his hands away from his ears, one by one. The touch was filled with care, and for a moment he wanted nothing more but to lean into it. "They're gone." The man said. A low, rich voice. "They're_ gone._ They'll never lay their hands on you again."

"This's so _stupid_-" Harry wheezed, breathing in. He covered his eyes. He hated this. "What's _wrong_ with me? That on-only happened _once, _and i-it.. It was ages ago!" He hated himself for wanting to cry again. He wanted to curse those tears for wanting to pour out again. "I shouldn't react like this! So many kids have it worse and they don't-" It wasn't even the first time this happened. At least before, no one was around, or no one noticed anything more abnormal than usual, but now... "I'm such a _stupid_ crybaby!"

"Well, I don't know about crybaby, but you're not stupid."

Harry couldn't bring himself to look up, or raise his face from where he'd buried it in his forearms. He wished he'd never come out of that room upstairs. He wished he'd explored the empty closet instead. Maybe if he'd had another accident like the one in the bathroom, he'd have had this panic attack _then_ and this nice stranger wouldn't have had to see him like this.

There was a shuffle in front of him, then the voice of the man came again, from lower than before. He'd sat down in front of him. How odd. "I won't lie by saying there's nothing wrong with you, because we both know it would be a lie."

Harry stiffened, then looked up, due to sheer surprise.

The man was on the floor, cross-legged, and reached forward to cup his face in both hands. "But we'll fix it." He smiled, sad but encouraging. His thumbs came forward, wiping the sheen at the corners of his eyes. The tears had leaked after all. "And we'll fix your health too. You'll never want for anything again. And in the end you'll see that it'll all be okay."

It sounded almost prophetic, the way he said it. Harry wanted to believe him so badly. Maybe… maybe this time he could? He didn't believe it when Sirius came for him, the previous day, but it turned out to be true after all. Maybe, this once, it was okay if he did, instead of thinking it was all a dream, soon-to-be nightmare.

The man pulled his hands away, but one of them took a hold of his, and didn't let go even as he climbed to his feet. "I think it's about time we introduced ourselves to each other properly, don't you? Your godfather and his brother are out buying some things, so we'll use that time to get to know each other."

That smile wasn't fake. It wasn't like the one Aunt Petunia put on whenever she talked with someone over the fence, or met someone from Grunnings. It wasn't like Uncle Vernon's, when he held a business dinner.

He opened his mouth.

"Now now," the man cut him off before he could speak. "I'm _sure_ you can do better than sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall in the hallway." A searching look, then the voice turned serious. "Can you make it to the couch?"

Harry nodded, wiped his face with his hand and pulled himself up. He wasn't an invalid. He was fine! He'd have used a hand to brace against the wall too, but the man didn't let go of it, so he used his grip as support instead. It was the first time _ever_ that someone helped him off the floor, or off the ground.

"Ah, pity." The stranger sighed. "And here I'd hoped for an excuse to pick you up and carry you there. Oh well."

The little boy didn't know what to think of that, but he followed him inside. The big old man led the way to the couch, and it turned out the man really did want to pick him up, because he didn't ask for permission before he grabbed him from under the arms and settled him on the soft sofa. A moment later, he sat next to him. "So, normally this would start with an exchange of names, but I already know who you are, and lots besides, so I guess I'll share some things, right?"

"… Okay?"

"Okay!" The man grinned lopsidedly, like he really wanted nothing else but to talk to him at that moment. It made something twist in Harry's chest. "I'm Marius Black. I'm your great uncle, if you can believe it."

Harry blinked, confused. That wasn't what he thought the family tapestry said. He thought of asking but couldn't bring himself to.

Marius Black turned to face him better, laying his arm on the top of the sofa's backrest. "You know it's fine to ask questions if you have them. I know Sirius told you yesterday not to speak up, but that was a one-time thing, because he had a lot to say. If there's something on your mind, say it."

Harry looked down and began to subconsciously mess the hem of his soft pajama top. "W-well... I was in that other room… the one with the tapestry?" Warily, he eyed the man, to see if he was in trouble for "snooping" around. He had to look down again, unused to seeing a pleasant expression aimed at him, especially for extended periods. "And I... well. I found you obviously and… Aren't we, like… second or third great-cousin-uncles or something? You were pretty far away from Si-Sirius and he's, like… a second cousin himself." And wasn't _that_ weird. His cousin as his godfather. Although he supposed the man was more than old enough for the job.

"Hmm. That's a good question, but easily answered. Let me ask you this: were you just looking at everything you could, or were you just looking for the ones still alive?"

The boy looked up, surprised at his easy guess. "Just the ones alive."

"Well, that explains it. See, if you'd looked further, you'd have found a certain Dorea Black married to Charlus Potter. My brother in-law." Marius Black grinned. "So, your grandmother was my sister I guess you could say."

Harry actually didn't know what to say. And he didn't know what he was feeling either just that it felt _good_ somehow.

"My _baby_ sister," the man went on grandly. "The most adorable thing to grace our family in recent memory." He nudged the boy in the shoulder. "At least until you came along."

Harry ducked his head again, feeling himself redden.

A while passed without any more words. Then. "Am I really that hideous?"

Harry looked up, startled. "What? No!"

Marius still looked put off. "No? Why can't you stand the sight of me then?"

"I don't-! I mean I _do_-… It's just… I…" A pause and a closer look. "Oh. You're joking…"

"Well, not _entirely_," the old man backtracked. "It _is_ kind of awkward to talk to someone who can't even stand to look at you."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Well, not _okay_, but understandable, and we'll work on it." Silence. Harry forced himself to at least shoot glances in his direction from time to time. "Now I said I'd share some things, but… what do you say if we turn it into a game?"

"A game?" No one had ever wanted to play with him before.

"Here's how we'll do it." The man leaned closer, as if getting together to plot something. "I'll share a few things, then you can tell me how much besides what I said you can guess. Then you'll get your turn."

Huh. It was a weird game, but Harry supposed it _did _sound like a sort of I spy. In reverse. Sort of. "… Okay."

"Great!" The man eased away and seemed to think. "I'm Marius Black, as I said. My likes are honest people, especially my wife, clear-sky sunsets, the colors white and orange, and to hug adorable things." Harry blinked. So _weird_. "I have no food preferences, so long as the food wasn't cooked by Regulus. My dislikes are traffic jams, Britain's autumn weather, and people who use others to their own ends." He paused, grimacing. "Which, sadly, means I dislike wizarding society as a whole too." Then his mood became a bit contemplative. "My greatest accomplishments were helping Regulus find his lot in life and, by extension, helping fix your godfather's and your lives as well. And my greatest regret, besides being unable to get you and Sirius out of where the world had shoved you sooner… I suppose it's the fact that there probably won't ever be anyone in my life willing to call me dad or grandpa."

"Oh." Harry looked away. Not down, but away, making a show of inspecting his surroundings. Really, what _could_ he say to all that? Actually being _part_ of a conversation was already surreal enough, but to have someone just share all those private things. Then again, maybe that's what family did? _Real_ family, not...

"Well come on." Marius prompted, lightly nudging him in the shoulder. "Your turn."

"My turn?" Bewildered was a good term.

"Well yes," the older man said simply. "Game, remember? You're supposed to try and guess stuff now. Although I suppose the word 'deduce' would work better."

"Oh… Well… I don't know." He fell silent, looking at his hands. He thought about it, and when the nice man just kept _waiting_, he started to feel uncomfortable. Like he was disappointing him. And he didn't want to disappoint him. "… Mister Regulus is a bad cook?" He tried.

Marius stared at him, eyebrows going up. Then he laughed, but it wasn't mocking at all. It was a nice sound. "I have to admit that, despite being able to do amazing things, like cajoling MI6 into setting up a whole surveillance operation, Regulus never gained much cooking expertise no matter how much he tried. Good! Very good. Not what I was looking for, or expecting, but I suppose it _was_ my fault for not saying you should try to guess things about _me_." A pause. "And I suppose a stuffy old guy like me isn't interesting for kids your age. But it doesn't matter!" He cut Harry off before he could protest. "Whether or not I'm interesting doesn't matter. You agreed to the terms of the game. Now unless you're a liar or someone who breaks their word, you'll do as you agreed to do. And I already know you're neither of those things, no matter what those criminals said about you."

It took Harry a few seconds to realize _who_ he meant by criminals. The _Dursleys_ were the criminals, not him, even though the whole neighborhood didn't think the same. "Okay. Um… you're married." A pleased nod. "And… you like to watch sunsets with your wife?" The smile got just that little bit wider. Harry found himself smiling a bit too. "Erm. You've always known about me? But couldn't do anything because of the same people that tossed my godfather in jail… And that made… made you sad?" Harry's tone almost broke. He almost couldn't dare think someone other than his mom cared about him enough to feel bad over what he was going through, but… but Mr. Marius said he liked honest people, which meant he disliked dishonest ones and that… that meant _he_ was an honest person so it was _true_ that people _cared_ about him. And Padfoot said he _loved_ him and-

"_Breathe_, Harry, and take your time."

The boy took a deep breath and brought his left hand up to rub his right arm from nervousness. He couldn't look the man in the eye anymore, but talking... that, at least he could do. "Umm. You said you don't think anyone will call you dad or grandpa so… You and your wife don't or can't have any kids?"

"Or we do have children but we don't get along."

Harry looked at the man. _Really_ looked at him. "I don't think so. You're too nice." Then he realized what he blurted out and looked away, flushing to the tips of his ears.

"That's kind of you to say, little man." The man said warmly. "Anything else?"

"What? Oh, right." There was more? What else did he say? That he dislikes people who use other people so… that meant the rest of wizarding society for some reason. Huh. "Um. Wizards are bastards?"

This time, Marius snickered and _tried_ not to laugh, but he failed. "Hahaha. Oh God. And you actually think of yourself as stupid. I'm having trouble understanding it. For the record, bastard is a bad word that you shouldn't use but… but it's so appropriate here. Lots of them are nice, mind you, but the ones in charge, they can be _nasty_ and difficult to work with. I mean, Regulus had to go behind their backs in order to watch over you, even though a society should look after its young. Just don't make it a habit to use swear words okay?"

Harry didn't hear anything after the words "watch over you" were uttered. The realization crashed on him so fast and suddenly that he couldn't understand _why_ he didn't connect the dots earlier. Marius had basically revealed it all when he mentioned MI6. "He's the good wizard!"

Marius blinked. "Eh? You'll have to explain better I'm afraid."

"Mr. Regulus. Sirius said…" God, how did he miss that? He started to wave his arms in emphasis. "There was this wizard who did awesome things and kept an eye on stuff during that war!" Harry mouthed a few times, not finding words and shook his head. "I'm saying this wrong. He's… Sirius told me there was this wizard superhero that beat back the bad guys… I only realized it now, it's Mister Regulus! That… this is unreal."

Marius laughed again, amused and pleased by his wide-eyed expression. Harry figured he probably looked like a deer in the headlights, whatever that meant. How embarrassing. "Ah, that's right kid. You're related to a superhero." Then he leaned close to whisper. "But don't _tell_ anyone."

Harry nodded, really really fast. That was obvious. Superheroes had secret identities. _Everyone_ knew _that_.

"Don't get me wrong," Marius straightened back. "Pretty much everyone in Magical Britain knows now." What? No, it couldn't be! Now he'd have to make _another_ secret identity. What a drag! "But he doesn't really like it when people talk about it. See, it got old after the first two dozen stupefied reactions. Or so he claims. I like to tease him about it sometimes. Not too much though. Restraint is a virtue after all."

"I guess." He was related to a superhero! Who was his godfather's brother! And his godfather could _shapeshift!_

Imagine that. Life actually _could_ be awesome. Or at least not suck!

… he'd have to make sure to never actually speak those words aloud. He'd asked his teacher once why "to suck" was a slur, and she'd gotten really red in the face, from embarrassment or nerves he didn't know. She yelled at him to stop asking foolish things and trying to make trouble, but that always happened so he couldn't really use it to "deduce" her state of mind.

Funny. Sandy the librarian couldn't stop laughing when he asked her, later that day. Although she did manage to gasp out that he should come ask her in a few years. Sometimes, grown-ups were just weird.

Wait. "Sandy…"

"Pardon."

Harry shook himself. "Sandy… Miss Sandra the librarian. Sirius said she isn't who she seems."

"Ah, that's right you don't know." Marius nodded. Harry forgot to feel uneasy about looking at him. "Her name is actually Vesper. Vesper Bond, formerly Lynd. She's one of the secret agents that watched over you all those years. Well, not an agent exactly, more like an accountant spy. Her husband is the real thing, though I doubt you ever actually saw him. There were some others who broke the rules to interact with you, as Sirius already told you. They couldn't just sit by and let you be picked on. They couldn't help but grow fond of you."

"Oh." Harry wondered about that. He almost couldn't believe it but… if it was real… Maybe what his aunt and uncle said to him and about him really _were_ lies. They'd lied about his parents after all.

It finally dawned on Harry, then, just how many people _did_ care about him. And that realization was followed by one that felt worse. The one that told him there were so many, and he didn't know _any_ of them. "Can…" He swallowed, but forced himself to look Mr. Black in the eye. He'd been raised to know better than to ask for things, but maybe… and they kept _saying_ they were different so... "Can I meet them? O-or at least, see Sandy again?"

Marius Black showed his surprise. "I don't see why not." Then he smiled, but it was different than the other times. Softer. Harry didn't know how else to describe it. He hadn't even known there _were_ so many types of smiles. "I know for sure Sandy, or rather Vesper, doesn't want to just disappear from your life. And lots of the people who watched over your neighborhood said, at certain points, that they wanted to meet you properly. They'll be glad to know you want to meet them too. And you can stop right there!" Harry snapped his mouth shut. "No, you _don't_ have to pay us back, or do chores in return, or anything of the sort. As far as we're concerned, if you don't go out of your way to turn your room into a mess, it's more than enough to show you're a responsible lad."

Harry shut his mouth, surprised that what he was about to say was guessed so easily. And even more taken aback at the way he got shot down before he managed to say he'd… do what he did at… the Dursleys. The Dursleys who were criminals and… and had no right to make him do all that work. Or live in a cupboard. Was that what his family was trying to make him understand?

"I see you're having trouble believing you always had people looking after you. I suppose there really _wasn't_ much evidence to help, but listen." Marius said seriously. "You have to understand, Harry, that good people don't always get the chance to do what they'd really want to do, especially when third parties are watching, or when their jobs are on the line. Peer pressure, you know? And sometimes more serious consequences can happen. For instance, Regulus could have stolen you as a baby, but then he'd have had to stay on the run with you, from both the good and the bad guys. You would have been raised as a fugitive kidnapping victim, and he wouldn't have managed to get your Godfather out of jail as easily, if at all. Things wouldn't have worked out so well then."

Harry understood. He really did, but it didn't really make him feel any different.

"Besides, we're guilty of the same thing, right now. Both of us."

His head shot up to stare at the old man in surprise. He didn't even know when he'd looked down. _Again_.

"I said I like to hug adorable things, and I don't need to remind you what I called you not that much earlier in our conversation. But you refused to consider what I was implying, didn't you? Because you find it too unbelievable, even though you have all the evidence you need to realize the truth. That the only reason I didn't hug you as soon as I laid eyes on you was because I was still a stranger to you then, and I didn't want to come across as a creepy old man."

It was like that time when he was six, and it was a snow day. He was walking home, and he happened to walk really close to a building just when all the snow decided to fall off and bury him up to his chest. He just stood there, too startled to move until the chilly shivering started and he realized he'd get sick if he didn't run home _right then_.

This time, there was no cold, but he was trembling anyway.

Marius' expression changed. Hardened as some sort of anger that was beyond mortal ken began to radiate out of him. "What those _freakish_ relatives of yours said and did really got to you didn't it?" His eyes became even harder. "Well you'd better throw anything and everything they ever said or did to you to the trash heap, because that's what they are! Human trash that never deserved to be blessed with someone as gentle as you in their home."

Harry stared, frozen.

Then it was gone. Mr. Black sunk farther back into the couch and rubbed his eyes with his left hand. The look he gave him afterwards was… Harry didn't know. He just knew he both wanted and didn't want to ever see it again in equal parts. It was loving, _caring_, but so _sad_ that he _hated_ to be the cause of it. "Come on. What do you say? Think you could spare a hug for your great-uncle?"

The boy tried to say yes, but he only managed a small, tentative, childish sound.

A second later, he was picked up. The man settled him in his lap and enveloped him in his arms, just like Sirius had, the previous day, when they were still in the cupboard. It felt so good and _warm_. He couldn't help but curl into a ball, sink into the feeling. He felt his uncle's chin on the top of his head, his fingers through his hair. And he could hear his great-uncle's heartbeat as it settled, little by little every other second. His small hands grabbed onto the shirt, an oddly familiar gesture, despite not remembering having done it before.

Harry wanted to apologize, say he didn't mean to make him sad, but-

"You're going to be alright with us, little one." Marius murmured. It made the child's insides twist almost painfully. He'd made him so _sad_, but it was still him that was reassuring him, not the other way around. "We're going to be a proper family. You'll see." Family. Real family. The type that put your well-being first, even when they weren't feeling all that well themselves. The type of family he _knew_ was only found in those bed-time stories no one ever read to him. And in his dreams, whenever his mom managed to come see him. She never spoke, but she was always _there_, even he didn't really see her often.

Maybe… maybe families like that really existed.

Something passed through him then. It started at the back of his eyes, then spread, like a warmth, through every inch of him. It was like one of those rare hugs he sometimes got from his mom, when the dreams became too much.

He'd chance it, one more time. Accept that maybe there were people who cared about him, even if it was only because he couldn't stomach being the reason why nice people could feel as sad as his great-uncle did, so little time ago.

No more words.

And then.

"I'll do it." It was a soft whisper that Harry wasn't sure he'd actually uttered.

"Hmm?"

"I'll do it. I-I'l…" Harry chanced a look, up. The man's earlier words flashed through his memory, vividly. _My regret… I suppose it's the fact that there probably won't ever be anyone in my life willing to call me- _"I'll call you grandpa."

The surprise on Mr. Black's face was so blatant... Harry was worried he'd understood or remembered wrong. Fortunately, that wasn't the case, as the fond expression showed, not long after. Although the reply did sent him for a loop. "That's wonderful of you to offer, little one. But if you're only doing it to make me feel better, I'd rather you didn't do it at all."

Well.

Wasn't that a shock.

Marius maneuvered Harry in a way that let them properly face each other, though he didn't push the boy off him. "Harry… You have to understand that feelings aren't _things_. They aren't…" He seemed to flounder, but managed to find words, somehow. "They aren't _possessions_, stuff you can or should use to bargain in exchange for… Well, for having someone behave in a certain way, or do something that makes you feel better about yourself. I'm sad to say that many people _do_ see it like that, but that's because they don't know any better, or went through too many hard things to be willing to believe otherwise.

"And because of the same reasons, you shouldn't so easily offer to do something just to make someone else feel better about themselves. Feelings… they should just _be_, you know? If you force them, or if you condition then, you'll soon find that they only appear when those types of things happen again, and at no other times. And the more conditions you place, the harder it is to be _happy_, which is the second best feeling of them all. Happiness… it's people's default state. Or at least _should_ be but so many people _choose_ to believe they can't be happy unless this or that happens… Some even choose to think they need specific _reasons_ to be happy and never realize they're miserable only because they chose to believe they have a reason to be…"

Harry couldn't really figure out if he was supposed to do or say anything.

Marius must have noticed his rather overwhelmed face, because he stopped, rubbed his face and released a deep breath. "Sorry. Seems that even though I tease Regulus about it, I seem to have a thing for rambling. I guess what I'm trying to say is, as long as you're not deliberately hostile… don't do something unless you _mean_ it, unless you're really, totally comfortable with it. As you grow, you might end up in situations where you don't really have much of a choice but to half-pretend, but until then you should try your best to be honest with yourself and everyone else. To do otherwise would mean doing both yourself and them a disfavor. It's not much different from lying, and lying to yourself is… well, not awesome. And besides, once you honestly, truly feel something good for someone, and act on it, they'll, in turn, feel great by default. "

Harry just stared, trying to make sense of all that. He _thought_ he did but.

"Okay…?" Marius prompted.

"… Okay." But there was something… "But... what's the best one?"

Marius blinked. "Best one? Best what?"

"The best feeling. You said happiness was the second best, so what could…?"

"Ah." Marius smiled, like earlier, only this time, at least, there was nothing sad about it. "That's love, little one."

Harry made an 'o' of realization but didn't really understand. "I… don't think I know what love is," he admitted miserably.

"Many people believe the same." Marius said soothingly, placing both hands on his shoulders. "But that they believe it doesn't make it true. Love isn't that hard to understand. Love is… more than just a feeling. It's a _state_ of being, you know? Love is when you actively _share_ happiness, the joy of living, with others. The one where you feel like nothing could make you more content, or happier, than to see others be content or happy in turn. And when someone loves you back, it's love that allows you to _feel_ that, to share the feeling. It's when you _share_ that state with another. And it feels different depending on the type of relationship. Unconditional love, the type that you feel for your fellow person just because they exist. Love for a sibling, like Sirius and Regulus share. Love for a partner, like between me and my wife. Love for a parent, like the one that lets you see your mom in your dreams."

Harry sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve.

"Then, of course, there's the love people feel for their children, like the one that made your mom and dad give up everything for you. Like the one that made Sirius come for you despite all the hardships. The one that will make it hard for him to ever treat you as an equal, even when you get older, because, in his mind, he'll always consider you more important than he does himself."

Harry couldn't keep his head high after that. It was all too… just so…

"And of course we can't forget good old, general family love." Marius lifted Harry's face up by his chin. "The one that made me feel relief when we finally got your godfather back among us. The one that made Regulus glad when his grandfathers made up with his brother and himself. The type that chased away the worry of everyone in this family when my brother started recovering from his illness a few weeks ago. The type that makes me feel content that you're alive and in one piece." Harry looked away again. "The one that makes me happy you'll have a chance to live a good and fulfilling life, full of comfort, joy, calm and security."

Harry hated it, that he could so easily cry now. He'd gone through all the years at the Dursleys almost never shedding a tear, especially where someone could see, but now he didn't seem to be able to stop for more than an hour.

And then his great-uncle was hugging him again, like before, and Harry decided to just let it all go and get it over with. Not like he was good for much else at the moment. "I hate this," he sniffed, wiping away with his sleeve whatever snot hadn't already stuck to his uncle's shirt. God, what a mess. "I wasn't… I shouldn't be… I'm such a _crybaby_."

"Well, you're definitely young enough to still be one."

"No, I'm not," Harry sniveled. "And I… I-I don't even know if I can do e-even half of those things you said."

Marius leaned back, still holding him close. "No one expects you to yet. You can't really share the joy of living if you don't actually _feel_ any joy in living." He pat him on the head. "You've been so busy surviving that you haven't actually had a life up to now. But that's not the case anymore. It might be strange at first, but…" Here, he smiled mysteriously, and made sure to have Harry see it. "Time is the last thing you should worry about for, oh, the next two months at _least_."

Months later, Harry could proudly claim that he _didn't_ turn into a soppy mess this time, even if it did take him about five minutes to get a hold of himself. Then another ten to finally decide what, out of that long speech, he should put the most thought into.

But when it all clicked together…

He straightened up, sniffed while doing his very best to make it look as though he _didn't_ still have a runny nose, and looked at Mr. Black straight in the eye. "I'll do it anyway." Maybe there _was_ something about _states_. Something _willed_. Decided. Something _brave_. "I'll call you grandpa."

"-. .-"

Sirius and Regulus actually didn't come home all that much time after Harry woke up and embarked on his soon-to-be-tearful adventure. It wasn't even _noon_ when they returned actually. Still, something didn't sit all that well with Sirius. He should have made sure to be there when Harry woke up.

Unfortunately, Harry had, inexplicably, slept like the dead through more than 24 hours, and by the time 12 had passed Sirius was already getting restless. Sure, he'd been tired too, but Occlumency made him get away with 4 hours of sleep easy, so he was already feeling stir-crazy by the time eight hours had come and gone. He'd had to use a sleeping potion to go back to sleep once that time was up.

When Harry finally let go of his shirt around 8 in the morning (Harry's grip on his clothes had somehow transferred even _with_ Regulus' switching spell that changed their clothing for bed), Sirius finally gave up in front of the force of his youthful vitality and slipped out of the bed. Sirius didn't know _what_ he was expecting, but for Harry to be so clingy was a surprise of huge proportions. Very different from his normal self.

Although he supposed being _Padfoot_ won him some points there.

Once he was through the door, Lord Black mentally connected to the wards, seeking where everyone else was. Pollux was still in his room, in bed, and Marius was in the study.

And he wasn't alone.

"Dammit."

Regulus looked from where he was hanging his coat in the clothes tree. "Anything I should know?"

"I wasn't there when Harry woke up," Sirius whined. Though he'd deny it to his death if anyone ever insinuated such a thing. "Imagine how scared he must have been, waking up in unfamiliar surroundings."

"You're just upset with yourself at not bearing to stay in bed for as long as he did."

Sirius didn't dignify that with a response.

He also didn't bother trying to be discrete or reserved as he made his way up the stairs.

Whatever he expected to find when he reached the study, however, was not what he came upon. After all, what were the odds of Marius sitting on the corner of the couch, with Harry on his knee, and both of them looking intently in a mirror that wasn't there when he left earlier that morning?

It was so surreal that he could only stand there, staring at the odd sight. And he didn't even notice the rather ruffled look on both of them

At least until Marius slowly, very slowly, raised an eyebrow, and Harry's face scrunched up in concentration until Sirius couldn't hold his snickers anymore. The poor kid looked so _constipated_.

His muffled laughter managed to grab their attention.

Marius' amusement was a welcome sight, but it lost easily to the happy smile that spread over Harry's face at the sight of him. He'd feared he'd have to try for _months_ before he got such a welcome. Before he got to see Harry jumping off Marius and bounding over to him.

Harry slowed down and stopped, though, when he was a few steps away, looking uncertain.

Well, it was already more than he'd dared hope for. Sirius got on one knee and opened his arms. "As long as you try _not_ to make me bang my head on something too often, you can launch yourself at me however much you like."

For once, the boy didn't need to be told twice.

Sirius reveled in the feeling, and when he felt Harry's intent to pull back, he tightened the hold and got back to his feet, Harry still with him. The kid got the memo and relaxed again.

"So. Mind telling me what you two were doing?"

Harry pushed back to looked at him. He even managed to rub the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I was learning how to _gaze_."

Sirius blinked. That didn't make any sense.

Harry took pity on him, it looked like. "Grandpa Marius said that staring isn't polite, so I should _gaze_ instead," he said sagely. Sirius almost facefaulted. He hadn't imagined that his godson would form a second bond so fast, but to start saying these weird things... Harry didn't notice his thoughts. "Because, um… When you stare it's _obvious_ and _silly_, but _gazing_ makes it look as though you have _every_ business of looking at… whatever you're looking at." Harry scratched his head. "So, er… gazing is a dig-ni-fied version of staring… that makes you look smart instead of silly?"

That last part was directed at the "grandpa" in question.

"No, gazing _means_ you're intelligent because dumb people can never quite pull it off," Marius explained, completely seriously.

Sirius had to bite his tongue before he told Harry what he really looked like during that… practice session or whatever it was. Otherwise, the kid might think he's stupid after all, and they were trying to convince him otherwise. "Right. So…" A safe topic. A safe topic. Anyone have a safe topic? Regulus had finally caught up to them, though he hadn't entered the room yet, and wasn't even trying to be of any help. "How did you like your room?" He blurted.

Fortunately, it seemed to be a good idea. "It was great! Huge! I… actually didn't really think it was all mine." Poor kid was embarrassed. "The mirror was weird though. And the bathroom..." He shuddered. "That chewing gum was _scary_. And _rude_."

"Chewing gum? I didn't put any…" Wait, what? "Harry." Sirius tried to stay calm. Okay, he just needed to stay calm. "Did the gum come packed in orange paper?"

Unsure why Sirius was so put off, the boy gave a jerky nod.

Oh Merlin! Zonko's Gilded Gum. Remus managed to get him with them in fourth year, and Sirius was too proud to admit he'd been had, so he claimed he knew exactly what they were there for, but was only testing to see if maybe he could negate the whole explosive effect. Neither James nor Remus believed him, so Sirius got them to place a bet: they'd have to do one thing, anything, he told them to, _once_, if he 'mastered' the gum in a week. If he lost, they'd get to tell _him_ to do something instead. Within reason. Marauder reason.

He ended up learning how to wandlessly cast sticking charms by necessity, just so he could do it on his teeth and lips. He almost choked to death, but he defeated the Gilded Gum, so he won. Afterwards, he kept using them because, despite the method, they _did_ perform as advertised.

Having James and Remus read out personally written love poems to McGonnagal on Valentine's day in front of the entire Great Hall was only fair after what they put him through. That it was _him_ that placed the bet, and solely out of pride, was conveniently overlooked at the time.

But Merlin, how had those gotten in Harry's bathroom? "Kreacher."

_Pop._

Harry's sharp intake of breath would have had him explaining about house-elves, under normal circumstances, but this was not a normal circumstance. "Kreacher, did you move the chewing gum from the master bedroom bathroom to Harry's?"

The old, wrinkled house-elf gave Lord Black a flat stare. "Kreacher told to keep watch over Master Harry and not be seen." Mutterings followed. "Of _course_ Kreacher not be noticed. Kreacher is good elf, even to half-blood loving master." Then he continued. "Master Harry needed to use facilities. Appallingly, barren facilities." The elf shook his head, disapproval oozing over Lord Black _neglecting_ to stock up properly. "Kreacher had to retrieve toiletries from Lord Black's bedchambers, but retrieve he did. Yes he did."

Sirius palmed his face. "Harry. Were you hurt?"

The boy shook his head, then became thoughtful. "No. It was weird. I fell from like… really high, but I didn't feel anything. Well, I _did_ hit my elbow, right in that weird spot, but that was after the fall."

Huh. Could it have been accidental magic? Nothing else explained it… unless.

He eyed Kreacher curiously.

The elf pursed his pale lips. "Kreacher told to watch over Master Harry." Then he turned around and skulked off. "Kreacher is good elf, but never told so to his face, oh no. Stay hidden, masters say, no face to say thanks to-" And so on and so forth.

Lord Black heaved a great breath. It was too much to hope Kreacher would ever fully change his behavior.

Coming back to himself, Sirius returned his attention to his surroundings in time to see Regulus place a memory strand in a little glass jar. A strand he'd just pulled from Marius. Not for the first time he was amazed and humbled by the man's willingness to be so... so _forthcoming_. Memories were private things. To share them… most wizards balked at the idea, but he did it so freely. At least with them.

"I'm guessing we'll be having lunch soon?" Marius asked, moving closer.

"Right. In the smaller dining room."

"I'll get Pollux." Since Arcturus had already gone back to the country manor, now that no past-them were there anymore. Marius looked at Harry. "So, feel like meeting that brother I told you about?"

Which was another way to take Harry off their hands for as little time as they needed to watch the memory of the past hour. "It's fine Harry. I'll see you shortly."

Once he was back on the ground, Harry accepted Marius' extended hand and followed him out of the room.

"That's really surprising," Regulus said from behind him.

"It is," Sirius agreed. "But something tells me not all of that memory is good." Turning around, he finally saw the shredded curtain behind the desk chair, and the shards of glass that Regulus was vanishing.

"It's fine," his brother cut him off before he could ask. "Marius said he was already moving towards the door when it happened."

"… I guess we really should watch that memory."

Not wasting any time, they walked through the other door, into the more private section of the study, where the pensieve was locked in a cabinet. After quickly taking it out, Regulus poured the memory in. "Do you want to do this alone or-"

"Together." He'd come to value his brother's insight, and much as he hated to admit it Regulus probably knew Harry better than he did.

Minutes later, they came out of the pensieve. Sirius wasn't sure about his brother, but he felt stuck somewhere between delight and that state where you want to go out in the rain and scream at the heavens.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to move in either direction any time soon, he focused on the rest. "Right. So Harry wants to meet… everyone… Most of whom I haven't met either."

The younger Black tapped his chin with his index finger a few times. "You know… I think there might actually be a way to do it. I'll have to make some calls but." Not wasting time, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and begun to thumb through it.

It gave the older brother a chance to catch onto something else. "He said he'd call him grandpa…" He realized in wonder. "But to think Marius dwelled on that…" The thought arrested him. Made Sirius really look at his sibling long and hard enough to make him feel it. "So, how many years has it been now?" Clearly, Regulus didn't buy the casual air, but he didn't expect him to. "Eight? Nine?"

It made him pause in his search for a number. "It's like he said. You shouldn't say things just to make people feel better."

Sirius snorted. "We're adults. We get to be a lot more cynical than that."

"Marius isn't."

That cut off Lord Black's smart comments before they could go on. That was actually a good point. And it wasn't like there were extenuating circumstances. The guy was a _lawyer_, for crying out loud, and he'd been disowned and left to fend for himself so he had plenty of reason to _not_ be… who he was.

Sirius Orion Black turned and stared at the pensieve again. The white strands kept swirling, and the occasional flash showed a half-remembered glimpse of the recent past. "I'm going to watch it again."

Another few minutes later, Sirius came back to himself just in time to hear Regulus say something to whoever was on the phone. Something about sobering charms.

Huh. This would be good.


	21. Chapter 20: Unknowingly Far-Reaching

**A/N: Here it is, the final chapter. I hope it lives up to your expectations.**

**There will be an epilogue (kind of a chapter 21, but I do think it will qualify as an epilogue well enough). Feel free to use the review space to point out whatever loose threads you found. I'll see about addressing them.**

**Keep in mind, however, that I have a sequel planned. On that note, you may start guessing what it will be about.**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Unknowingly Far-Reaching**

"-. .-"

As soon as he and his brother finally reached the "small" family dining room, Sirius realized some measures had to be taken to make the setting more appropriate to a child's first meal in a new home with new people. For one thing, even though that was supposed to be the informal meal room, there was still an air of aloofness. Somehow, the theme, the decorations on the walls, the gilded, rectangular table that was deliberately large to ensure a certain distance between everyone seated…

Yep. It was clear that none of that was going to fly. Sirius idly wondered how no one had commented on it before. Then again, they all, even Marius, were accustomed to the room by that point, and they _were_ Blacks, used to a certain level of elegance even when no one was dwelling on protocol. It was the one reason he didn't just decide to have them all eat in the kitchen.

With a flick of his wrist, Sirius made his wand shoot into his hand. Tilting his head in consideration, he swiped his hand in the air, as if to encompass the whole room from his position at the door. The eight straight-back chairs slid away from the table. Three of them flew to a corner, and they were lost to sight behind a folding screen that Sirius conjured just for the purpose of hiding them from sight.

With careful movements, he traced a pattern with his wand, then focused on the table. The long, wide piece of furniture flickered and contracted, leaving behind a much smaller but just as elegant, though understatedly so, round table. It was much smaller than the normal form, but large enough that they all would fit comfortably without jostling for elbow room.

Nodding in satisfaction, he swiped his wand again. The five chairs still loitering about took their places around the table. Pondering a moment longer, Sirius nonverbally summoned a simple but immaculate table cloth. It came flying from outside the room not long after, and the wizard guided it above the table, where it unraveled and settled over it, losing all creases as it did so.

That left just the walls and ceiling, but before Sirius could do more than look at them the candles on the chandelier vanished, only to be replaced by globes of translucent, white glass a moment after. Glancing back, he saw Regulus casting, having obviously picked up on his thoughts. The younger black finished transfiguring the chandelier to look more like something less out of an old fairy tale. It would do for an image, since they didn't need to even summon light inside the white globes. The large window across the room from the door allowed much light to stream in. August 1 was turning out to be surprisingly bright given what London weather was usually like.

They wouldn't make it a habit of changing rooms in advance of Harry walking into them, but for the first day they figured it wouldn't hurt to try and minimize the culture shock.

"So, what did they say? Whoever you were talking to on the phone I mean," Sirius asked.

"They'd call me back, but I have a good feeling about this."

"Hmm."

Minutes later, Sirius called Kreacher and sent him to notify the others that it was time to come down for lunch. The elf popped away to do as instructed. No doubt Marius would have explained about elves by now.

The two brothers spent the next few minutes putting some finishing touches on the room. By the time the other three made it down, they were quite satisfied with the bright and clear room and the warm atmosphere, quite unlike the somewhat more neutral, impersonal feel of before.

Their casting also concluded with Sirius being out of the immediate sight of those coming through the door, which had the effect of finally allowing Harry to spot Regulus and stare at him. The poor kid started to fidget in place, but he was unable to stop staring. That did it, Sirius thought with hidden amusement. He'd definitely have to keep up those _gazing_ lessons.

Idly, Sirius Black remembered how completely oblivious Harry had been to Regulus' presence when they met in the study earlier. It made him feel really good, that his godson was so focused on him that he didn't register anyone else. Although he supposed that was a selfish and unfair thought.

Then again, given the way Harry was now looking at Regulus with something between hero worship and embarrassed bafflement (maybe at not having paid any attention to him earlier?), Sirius figured Regulus had no problem with having been ignored before.

Regulus hid a smile, though Sirius wasn't sure how he knew that. "Hello there."

"Hi." Harry said back. "You're Regulus Black aren't you?"

"Yes." The young man began to summon and levitate tableware. "I take it you finally noticed that I exist?" He asked dryly.

Ah, so it _did_ bother him. Good to know.

Harry mumbled something, looking down. Sirius could see his godson's skin go pinker than usual. He _was_ embarrassed. Heh.

"Little one." Marius called from behind him. "What did I say about speaking your mind?"

Well, this would be good. Sirius even noticed Pollux smirking and shaking his head from where he was, just outside the door. "Erm… to not be afraid to do it… because being afraid you-you'd be angry at me would be the same as me thinking you're li-like the Dursleys and… that would be insulting?"

"That's right. Unless you're about to be rude just for the sake of being rude, but I doubt you were going to, right?"

Sirius blinked. Well. He'd have to remember that one.

Harry took a deep breath and looked up at Regulus, who was looking down at him even as he continued to float silverware to the table. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you, but... I guess I had trouble believing you were there…? I-In the same room with me I mean." He floundered, then rubbed the back of his head in what was becoming a habit. "It's just… I've never met a superhero before."

Sirius apparated to the Hall of Black just so he could burst out laughing. The void seemed to vibrate in concert with his undisguised mirth. The look on his brother face! And the way he lost concentration and made all the table spoons and forks fall everywhere with so much _noise_… And the way he'd stumbled without even _walking_ at the time was all just so utterly _hilarious_.

Master of Occlumency. Hah!

"-. .-"

Sirius managed to get himself under control eventually, so he translocated back to the dining room. He was just in time to see everyone settling in their seats. Even Pollux knew by now that he shouldn't hold to protocol unless it was a formal occasion. Which was to say, they didn't need to wait for the head of house to show up and take a seat first.

The wizard was pleased to see that they'd left the chair on Harry's left side free. That put Pollux on Sirius' other side, which was just as well. As he stepped around the table to take his place at it, Lord Black stretched his awareness over the man, examined him, much like he had during their _union_ all those weeks ago. It wasn't as deep, the glimpse, but it was enough to confirm that his grandfather was well on his way to completely regaining his health. And the improvement was marked, compared to that last time he'd done it, several days before.

Curiously, Regulus was the other person next to Harry, not Marius, who was right across from the boy, more or less.

Sirius didn't miss the chance to tousle Harry's hair as he passed him by, and he let his hand linger on his godson head when he seemed to lean into it without realizing it. "So, did you two finally introduce yourselves properly?"

Regulus tossed him a one-eyed glance over Harry's head. "You and I will need to have a talk later."

With some reluctance, Sirius finally pulled his hand away. "I never _once_ stated any false opinion about you during my verbal dealings with Harry." It was a perfectly flat statement, though Sirius made sure to look anywhere _but_ at him as he delivered it. "Besides, I don't think I need to tell you again what I feel about what you've done with your life." He saw the long-suffering shake of the head that his sibling made, from the corner of his eye, but Sirius decided to focus on something else instead.

Like the food. Kreacher had really outdone himself this time. The table had been transfigured, sure, but it was still pretty big, and yet it was still utterly _loaded_ with different dishes. There was everything from fish and chips to roasted turkey, and from green salad to milk and cookies.

Poor Harry looked completely overwhelmed.

Luckily, between himself and Marius they managed to coax him into having a little bit of everything. It was a bit hard at first, but after they got him to point at what interested him, he and Regulus started to levitate bits and pieces of intended meal to his plate, pushing aside hesitance with wonder. Then Sirius made it even better by tapping Harry's chair with his wand and making its feet grow, until his godson was actually high enough to eat comfortably.

Hopefully, by the time Harry's wide-eyed reverence for every minor magic trick waned, so would his standoffishness.

It was five minutes in that Sirius noticed it. Harry's movements were… staggered, if that was the right word. As if he was unsure he was doing it properly… ah, then he saw it. Poor kid was sneaking glances in the direction of Marius and Pollux, trying to copy their table manners without being obvious about it. Sirius almost felt annoyed, before he realized that his grandfather and uncle weren't being stiff and formal on purpose. They weren't stiff at all actually. They just ate the way that was the most comfortable to them. That it just happened to be the one that those in the high class cultivated was pure coincidence.

Sirius blinked. Then blinked again. Those two… their table manners were so alike. It made the young Lord Black almost shake his head. It figured that he'd spend months having trouble believing those two were brothers, only for something so mundane to make him realize he was just being needlessly disbelieving about it.

Willing his thoughts back to the present, he decided to try and make small talk. It worked easily enough… between himself and the other adults anyway. But, little by little, they managed to draw Harry into the conversation. Much to Sirius' surprise, Pollux managed to break through his hesitance, when he brought up the topic of astronomy. One thing led to another, and soon enough Pollux was regaling everyone with the stories behind the meaning of each of their names. How their respective parents –Harry's extended family- had decided on them (some were edited versions), and even the myths behind the names of the stars and constellations. He even got Harry to take turns with him at telling about the myths behind each star.

It was a very shy Harry Potter that talked about the meaning of the star Sirius, looking down at his plate. The older of the two youngest Blacks was astounded to discover that Harry knew everything worth knowing about the star that was his namesake, including that it was a portent of misfortune in ancient days. "Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky, On summer nights, star of stars, Orion's Dog they call it, brightest Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat, And fevers to suffering humanity." Sirius stared dumbly as Harry recited from Homer's Illiad, of all things. Then his eyes got a bit misty when Harry quietly said he didn't agree with the myth at all.

He wanted to pick Harry up and hug the stuffing out of him right then and there, but he settled for a far more tempered pat on the head instead. And for the next few minutes, Sirius didn't speak at all, because he didn't trust his mouth not to run away from him and say something stupid.

Like that he actually _did_ agree with the myth, because he _had_ brought nothing but misery to everyone. Sowing discord in his parents' house since he learned to walk and talk. Driving the stake of ire further by distancing himself from his blood family during school. Leaving home and ignoring his brother, essentially pushing him into the service of a madman by making it seem like he had no alternative.

Insinuating himself into another family, only to thank them by bringing death on them, and years of misery upon their son and heir, whom he'd sworn to watch over in case things went to hell.

His mood didn't show on his face, but it was felt by the others, even if they didn't identify the source. Conversation got increasingly stilted, and it would have died down completely if the unfelt tension didn't result in something else first.

Harry had finished the first course and made to eat from a cookie, only to bite more than he could chew.

Bits of it broke off. Fell.

Harry fumbled, reflexively trying to catch them, but his erratic lunge only caused the errant piece to roll away, and his inner forearm hit his glass of milk and spilled it over his plate and the table.

Harry went unnaturally still when all four grownups suddenly pinned him with their eyes. Deathly quiet. It was just human nature to instantly focus on the disturbance, but that didn't really help the one that attracted attention that way.

Sirius looked at his godson, frozen mid-lunge. Staring, mortified, at the milk, still soaking in the table cloth, dripping off the edge of his plate and the glass. He knew what he was seeing, and it made his anger bubble and fester. Made him want to go after the Dursleys themselves. Harry was clearly expecting someone to snap at him, to yell, to call him a useless boy, worthless _freak_ or variation thereof. Maybe even strike him.

It made him sigh.

Harry slowly pulled his hand away and lowered his head, but his muscles tensed. He was coiled like a spring.

Sirius wanted to punch himself in the mouth. Harry had taken his sigh completely the wrong way. He wanted to reach for him, brush that tension away, but he didn't want _that_ to be taken the wrong way too. "Harry. Look at me."

"I'm sorry!" The boy looked up, frantic. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy! I'll clean it up-"

"Harry!"

His mouth clamped shut.

Sirius sighed again, but made sure to meet his godson's gaze. "Did you do it on purpose?"

"No." It was a small, faint voice. As if he didn't expect to be believed.

"Then there's no harm done. You're in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. Obviously, you're a little high strung, so accidents can happen." With a flick of his wand, he vanished the milk-sodden food on Harry's plate, only to want to punch himself again when his godson's expression fell.

The surveillance team had counted all instances of the Dursleys' habitual punishments. Withholding food was first on the list by far.

Sirius pretended not to notice as he began to load Harry's plate with more or less what was on it before, cookies and all. Treacle tart too, that was a must.

He'd made his point. He could see it on Harry's face. Unfortunately, he'd apparently made it a bit too well, because Harry ducked his head again and immediately looked ashamed of reacting that way. Sirius wondered why… until he remembered what Marius had reminded him of when they came through the dining room door. That he should never assume they were like his aunt and uncle. But Harry had, even if it wasn't his fault, and now he was feeling stupid because of it.

Sirius wanted to rub his eyes in frustration. They didn't need this, _Harry_ didn't need this so soon after getting away from that shithole-

"Harry." Sirius' attention snapped to Marius, who was looking at Harry who was looking right back. "Come here." The old lawyer motioned for Harry to walk over to him.

Even withdrawn as he was, Harry still hesitantly looked at Sirius for permission. It made something in the young lord's chest constrict painfully. Made him realize that for all his intellectual understanding, Harry recognized him, emotionally, only as a replacement authority that must be obeyed. He couldn't, didn't _dare_ believe he was done with prejudice yet. Somehow, he was still afraid Sirius would turn out in some measure like _them_, because he, Harry James Potter, didn't really deserve any better.

Not showing anything openly, he pat Harry on the head a few times. He was relieved to feel him relax a bit. "Go ahead. It's okay." Sirius' tone didn't even hint at what was really going on in his head. "Your plate will still be here when you come back."

Harry carefully dismounted his chair and meekly circled the table, around Regulus chair, until he was next to Marius…

… who didn't even give him a second to wonder why he'd been told to walk over there. The man turned and picked Harry up without even asking permission.

A moment later, Harry Potter was seated side-ways on his "grandpa's" knee again, like he'd been during their lesson on _gazing_. "Now," Marius said seriously. "Your one mistake was trying to emulate our manners without actually _knowing_ what manners are."

The kid opened his mouth-

-and closed it when Marius lifted a finger to stop him from speaking. "-And I don't mean the textbook definition." It was actually a good sign that Harry wasn't too terrified to react defensively. "The definition is just half of it. The other half is something most kids hate, but need to muddle through anyway. Can you guess what it is?" Harry frowned, trying to figure it out, but ultimately shook his head. "Well I'll tell you. The answer is _history_."

Sirius blinked. Then blinked again.

Harry only blinked once, but it was enough.

"Let me put it this way." Marius had Harry's full attention already. "Why do you think table manners exist? They didn't suddenly all show up, it was a gradual thing, but why do you think they came to be? Because 1: they make you look nice and proper. And 2: they prevent you from making a mess of yourself and the surrounding area."

Sirius almost snorted. The way he said "surrounding area" made it sound like he expected the whole room to explode or something.

Then again, there _had_ been that one time in fifth year, in the Hogwarts great hall, when no inch of the left wall below 3 meters high had been left untouched after the Valentine's day chocolate cakes at the Slytherin table had all exploded.

Ah. Good times.

But Marius was still talking. "There's a third reason manners exist, though, one that many people, as baffling as it is, forget." Sirius's ears went taut, much like a dog's would. "Thing is, manners are _also_ supposed to maximize your enjoyment of each morsel you chew."

Harry looked dubious. Sirius could understand his disbelief.

But the old lawyer ploughed on. "Take cookies for example," Marius lectured, "The thing about cookies is that there are two ways to eat them, depending on their consistency." Reaching for the cookie platter, he picked up a soft Cornish fairing, not unlike the one Harry had failed to devour properly earlier. "This, for example, is a _soft_ cookie. That means you don't use your teeth as leverage to break it, like you tried earlier, because that's liable to make it crumble." Harry's ears went pink, but he kept his eyes on the confectionary. "Soft cookies also tend to have a stronger flavor, which means that you have to _nibble_ on them instead of biting them one big chunk at a time."

Sirius exchanged a bewildered look with Regulus, then tried to do the same with Pollux but the old man wasn't looking in his direction so he didn't reciprocate. He was _gazing_ at those two instead.

Marius ignored them all. "So, can you tell me why that is?"

"Umm…" Harry thought for half a minute. "Because it would be like eating too much at once?"

Marius smiled proudly. "That's a good comparison. You can get fed up with the flavor and regret it later, when you wish you'd had more than one or two. If you nibble, though, you get to enjoy the flavor for longer, and you don't get sick of it as fast, if at all. Now, here. Try again."

Harry accepted the large cookie with both hands and hesitantly took a small bite out of it. When no disasters happened, and not even a crumb fell, tension seemed to drain from him. Soon, he was properly _nibbling_.

Across the empty chair from Sirius, Regulus pointedly reached for a similar cookie and began to elegantly partake of it with a single hand. It even made Sirius somewhat envious. It shouldn't be possible for cookies and the action of eating them to be _elegant_, but there it was.

Over the next five minutes, Sirius ate from his second bowl of chicken soup while keeping an eye on how Harry snuck glances from Regulus to Marius and back, gradually adopting their mannerisms when it came to the Fine Art of Cookie Consumption. Then, at some point, Harry gathered enough courage to ask exactly what all the different forks, knives and spoons were meant for, and Marius easily answered every question.

Lord Black wondered if he should feel envious of that interaction, but he didn't so he figured the question was irrelevant. Harry seemed to be feeling at ease, and Sirius didn't really hope for much else yet. Sending some unobtrusive glances around, he noted that Regulus was calmly participating in the conversation even though he was mostly reactive. Sirius also registered the almost unnoticeably slumped posture of Pollux, on his left.

Wait a second.

Turning to behold his grandfather, Sirius noticed the pained expression on his face. It was very, very slight, and he probably wouldn't have known what it was if his connection with House Black didn't give him a better level of empathy than he had before taking lordship.

Concerned, Sirius reached out and placed his hand over his. "Grandfather." Startled out of whatever revelry he was in, Pollux Black met his eyes. "Are you feeling unwell? Will you need a potion or help going back upstairs?" The man wasn't all well yet, and if his blood pressure rose his blood vessels could burst. And it wasn't exactly painless even if they didn't.

Not for the first time, Sirius marveled at the fact that he actually was close to all his relatives now.

Pollux' gaze softened into something sad and somber. "No. Physically I feel fine, as I keep telling you, Andromeda and Theodore." He'd made it clear that he thought "Ted" was not a worthy name, so of course he wasn't about to consider it a proper nickname either.

"You didn't look fine just now." And he hoped it wasn't because he found the previous events unsightly for a member of the House of Black.

Pollux leaned back in his chair, melancholy making him pick at his eggs and bacon with his fork. "It's… hard to watch, that's all."

Ah. So it _was_ that he didn't like what he was seeing.

Sirius frowned. Trying not to be too obvious (though he could feel Regulus' gaze on him), he traced his wand under the table and weaved a low-grade privacy ward that would allow him and Pollux to speak without the others hearing. "What's wrong?" His words were soft. He knew Harry wasn't exactly as emotionally developed or graceful as a noble scion at the age of 8 should be, but he also knew Pollux knew better than to expect that of him.

Which meant his grandfather was affected by something else.

The old wizard sighed. "You know our history. Of Arcturus' two children, one was murdered by one of mine and the other left with her husband Ignatius Prewett and never looked back. Of the three I had, the good one was murdered, my daughter went insane and, well, you know what she did. And my other son killed himself because he was too much of a coward to take responsibility for the crimes he committed."

Sirius grimaced. This didn't sound like something worth discussing at the table. He was glad for the privacy charm he'd cast.

"Dorea was murdered with Charlus, all those years ago," Sirius was taken aback by the sadness there. He'd never given it much thought, but now he was ashamed. Pollux had been as much Dorea's brother as Marius had. "And her son, too, was murdered along with his wife. Everyone worth anything of our family, even your generation besides you, Andromeda and your brother, were killed. And _all_ of you had something horrible happen to you."

The younger wizard decided against interrupting, and he was glad for it.

Pollux indicated across the table with his fork. "Harry himself got a really raw deal, orphaned and chugged in a cage with dumb and malicious animals. That leaves Marius, but even he got disowned for not having magic, had to struggle for years. But I thought his life had turned out okay, you know? And now, look at him." Pollux dropped his fork, used his free hand to rub his eyes, then propped the right side of his face on his palm. "The one person in our generation that would have actually managed to bring up the next one properly. The one person who so easily connects with the young, and he just _happens_ to be the one that never got to have and never will have any children of his own."

Sirius looked at Marius, then his bowl. There wasn't much soup left, but his appetite had diminished so much that he didn't feel like forcing himself to finish. Distantly, a part of him allowed itself to contemplate how miraculous it was that Pollux and Marius had managed to heal their relationship, even if not completely. But most of his mind was weighed down by what his maternal grandfather had just said. Sirius realized that it had never really sunk in, how hard it would be to heal the Black Family, let alone to change how the rest of the world thought of it. The House of Black really was messed up. What Pollux said… _That_ track record was what he had to deal with._ That_ was the reputation he had to _change_.

His stomach twisted at the thought that he had the deaths of so many family members to be thankful to. To thank for the fact that he didn't have even more bullshit to crawl through.

A hand on his own pulled him from his introspection, and his sight settled on an abashed Pollux Black. "Forgive this old man his lack of tact. I didn't mean to ruin your mood on your first day with your godson. It's just old age creeping up on me."

Sirius sighed and occluded the latest ten minutes, compartmentalizing his memory and separating the emotion from his current state of mind. He looked back at his godson, who was being instructed in the correct way to consume cookies of the hard, crisp variety. "See, Harry, there's a trick to these. You don't just use your teeth as leverage to break them, you have to really bite through the biscuit. Trust in your teeth, they're more than hard enough. Just make sure you hold your lips close together and very slightly breathe in through your mouth when you do, to draw all the crumbs along too. That's all there is to it."

Harry's face settled into a determined scowl as he followed the instructions, and he actually managed to not audibly inhale or choke on crumbs as he bit from the pastry. For a second he waited for the other shoe to drop, but then the realization dawned that he'd done it.

Sirius felt his stomach flip when Harry looked at him with the sort of expectant delight he didn't dare hope to see for another few weeks. He couldn't stop the proud smile from blooming on his face, a smile that grew further when Harry bit from the cookie again and only pouted in annoyance when he failed to prevent a couple of crumbs from falling. No more drama. "Don't worry Harry," Sirius laughed. "You'll do it naturally soon enough. Of course, that means you'll need to keep having more cookies until you get to that stage." Lord Black nodded in mock seriousness. "And lots of milk."

It was silly really, to treat eating cookies like some sort of big achievement. His good old mother would have screeched about how shameful it was, but who cared? Besides, it was ingenious too. If they set this precedent, that it was okay to ask questions and go into detail about something _this_ minor and _silly_, then Harry should have no fear of asking _any_ questions from now on.

His appetite was back, the young wizard realized, so he dug back into his food. Soon enough, he'd finished the soup and relaxed against the backrest, waiting for Kreacher to transport the bowl to the kitchen and replace it with his second course, lamb steak with mashed potatoes and salad. Beside him, Pollux was looking at the same sight he was, Marius in particular.

"He really is something, isn't he?" Sirius told him.

"He is." The emotion was carefully hidden, but there was so much of it. "I'm surprised his wife isn't here with him though."

Sirius gave his grandfather his Marauder grin. "Oh, she may not be _here_, but she's _with_ him alright." Pollux glanced at him, puzzled. "I believe she and her husband are sleeping off the aftereffects of the birthday party we held for Harry yesterday." Pollux' frown of confusion didn't ease. "Or, well, the party we _will_ hold in a couple of months. But don't _tell_ anyone."

The old man's eyes cleared and his mouth formed an 'o' of comprehension. "So that's why she left the other day." A pause, and then Pollux was asking, slowly, tentatively. "Is… there any chance Arcturus or myself attended?"

Sirius instantly felt shocked.

Then he just felt like scum. Pollux had actually sounded _hopeful_. "Er… I'm sorry but no. The time turner can only take three people, and as far as I know neither you nor Arcturus are going back for this last jump."

The white-grey-haired wizard nodded and started on his desert, not seeming too bothered.

It almost fooled him. "Grandfather..." Sirius sighed. He honestly hadn't expected this. "I'm sorry." He really was, and he prayed Pollux believed him. "I should have considered this. If I'd just asked, you could have just gone over yesterday with Leona, time jump or no. I just never even considered you'd want to be there for it without even meeting Harry in the first place." Which was stupid. If that was his only concern, he could have had Pollux, even Arcturus, visit a few days earlier, even if the whole time-turned selves situation would have made it weird for them. "I didn't want to put you in the awkward position of having to refuse, or going and failing to enjoy yourself."

"And ruin the mood of everyone else you mean?" Pollux smiled humorlessly. Arcturus had retired to the country manor as soon as the time loop period had ended and there were no past-them living there anymore. "I admit that I get along with Artie, but I'm not him you know." Sirius grimaced at being pointed out something that should have been obvious. "Don't misunderstand him though. It's not that he doesn't want to meet Harry because he doesn't want to be exposed to his appalling manners or anything."

"Why else would he make himself scarce that way then?"

Pollux looked at him in a way that asked him if he was really so dim. "Maybe because he assumed, like you assumed so many things yourself, that you wouldn't want him to be among the first people you exposed Harry to? And he didn't want to put you in the _awkward_ _position_ of telling him yourself that he should stay away? You _may_ have buried the hatchet and tentatively established a raport, but no one's forgotten what you accused him of when you took Lordship. What the family hierarch _agreed_ with you on."

"… Oh Merlin." Sirius breathed.

"Besides," Pollux talked on, taking another spoonful of his vanilla cake. "He'd probably have trouble looking at Harry without a cloud settling over his head, seeing as how the kid's basically going to be a living reminder of what you already showed him, namely that everything he believed was a lie."

Sirius' palm met face. And here he'd thought they'd gone past the point where lack of communication could do so much damage. Maybe he'd have to decree that taking or not taking actions with the express purpose of "avoiding awkwardness" was outlawed in the House of Black.

"Again, I'm sorry. I should have asked… but I guess I didn't think you'd warm up to Harry all that fast." Even to Sirius' ears, that excuse sounded hollow.

Pollux nodded but used his spoon to indicate his brother. His brother who was now showing the boy in his lap the proper way to hold each different glass. "With an image like that, it's kind of hard not to."

"-. .-"

Sirius wondered how he'd ended up explaining to Harry the intricacies of British Wizarding wardrobe. Oh, right, they were in the car and he needed some way to distract Harry from his nervousness at having to meet so many strangers at once. And since Marius had somehow roped his godson into an apparently never-ending discussion about manners and protocol during lunch, Sirius decided to just go with the flow and keep answering questions until Harry's curiosity abated. He thanked his lucky stars that Marius actually _did_ seem to know the history behind every social convention Harry asked about.

And as befuddling as it seemed, said curiosity was _not_ abating. Sure, the kid took some breaks during the day, to talk to Kreacher (of all things) and being taken on a tour of the house, but he always started asking questions about the topic, based on things he spotted and asked the purpose of. Grimly, Sirius internally supposed that after so many years of being told not to ask questions, Harry was relishing the chance to ask and ask some more without fearing repercussions. Although it was really strange that this topic, of all topics, was the one they'd settled on. Usually, children loathed lessons like these ones. Or, really, all sorts of lessons. But Harry's attention span was really incredible, even if his train of thought did seem to jump almost randomly sometimes.

That he didn't see it as a lesson probably helped.

They were being driven by Marius over to the where everyone who'd ever been involved with the Little Whinging surveillance operation was having a party. Earlier, when he and Regulus learned that Harry wished he could meet those people, Sirius didn't really expect to make it happen, especially not so soon. And he didn't really feel it was all that important. He'd have preferred it if Harry slammed the door in the face of his life up to his eight birthday and never looked back.

But this was _Harry_, and the request wasn't something minor. So it was actually a welcome surprise when Regulus put away his phone and said that they were in luck, because everyone involved in the operation was having a celebratory outing at a certain pub in London. Sirius supposed it might have been a habit of the muggle secret service people to celebrate the completion of assignments. Regulus told him that wasn't really the case though. This one time, the men and women involved were simply glad to see the operation end on a positive note, and happy that a certain 8-year-old boy was off to a new and better start.

Sirius was still skeptical… until he was told that every single person who'd ever been assigned to the surveillance would be there. Even those that had requested a different task after not being able to stomach it anymore. All in all, there would be about two dozen people when they arrived.

Sirius actually didn't want to expose Harry to the world of night locales so soon, but Regulus bluntly pointed out that living with the Dursleys was a far worse example of the darkness of humanity. Besides, they had magic, and everyone there knew about it, so they'd be able to clean the air of any smoke or smells, and cast sobering charms on people to make sure things didn't get gross or uncomfortable.

They had to delay the time jump until after midnight (and hadn't _that_ been a vague telephone conversation with Remus, since the old wolf didn't even _know_ about the time travel yet) but that was a small price to pay. Sirius would just have to overcharge the time turner a bit to make it leap one extra day. The fact that the jumps had already meshed so well together suggested he'd already been successful there.

"So…" Harry said thoughtfully. "The silk used to make luxury robes comes from ac-ro-mant-ulas."

"A-cro-man-tu-las," Sirius corrected patiently. Honestly, Harry's pronunciation wasn't bad, but the kid seemed to want it to be as perfect as it was for every other word in his vast vocabulary.

"Which are like… giant spiders?"

"Yes."

"Giant _spiders_."

"Yes."

"Huh." Sirius waited for the 'wicked!' or something along those lines, but Harry had different ideas. "Why not use regular silk though?"

Sirius would have facefaulted if he wasn't sitting down on the backseat of an automobile.

Regulus answered for him, from the passenger seat. "They do, often enough. But acromantula silk is more durable, smoother, can anchor enchantments permanently, and also doesn't stain. That's why it is used for wizard high-class fashion. Also, unlike silkworms, acromantulas produce webbing every time they hunt and make a cocoon with their prey. And they tend to 'refine' their nests, human-engineered or otherwise, quite often. So the rate at which acromantula silk is produced and harvested is higher than for silkworms, which produce only one silk cocoon in their lives and have to be boiled to death while still inside-"

"Okay, that's enough information." Sirius loudly cut him off. He had to forcefully set aside the thought of throttling his brother. Didn't he know better than to explain to an 8-year-old that the way people they procured high-class clothing relied on the periodic mass murder of a species of insects? And, Merlin forbid, give Harry enough of a reason to ask how large, exactly, acromantulas have to be before their web can be harvested… and what kind of _prey_ they were talking about.

"I know how silk is made," Harry grumbled. "I just wanted to know if acromantulas went through the same, and if wizards are just as... are like everyone else."

"You don't need to worry about that much," Regulus said before Sirius could offer more input. The younger Black eyed Harry through the rear-view mirror. "There is animal cruelty and there is natural order. Besides, you should know that while animal cruelty is bad, following natural order isn't really evil, since animals don't have souls, not like we do." Sirius frowned in thought. This wasn't something he'd heard before. "They are more like very complex constructs, similar to robots which, like plants but more actively, work against the stagnation of the physical reality. They live and breathe according to the direction provided by… entities, shall we say, from the mental and astral planes. They follow pre-ordained behaviors to maintain the cycle of death and rebirth as it were, the constant transformation of matter. That is why their behavior is the same across the board, why the herding instinct appears in many species, and why instinct exists in general. You could say that it is similar to a hive mind, though very loosely." Regulus shifted in his seat. "I know there are exceptions, especially in regards to pets and familiars, but that's usually because a semi-sentient or fully sentient spirit or entity happened to choose said creature as a vessel."

Harry's eyes were wide in surprise. "Wait… so people can reincarnate in dogs and cats and stuff?"

"No." Well, that answer seemed to contradict what Reg had previously said. "Not like us. Sentients only reincarnate as other sentients. It is, however, possible for a spirit to… extend its awareness, shall we say, to a dog, cat, owl, kneazle, sometimes even a wild animal or other magical creature. Just for observation, so to speak, although they do begin to influence the behavior sometimes. Like when a dog is particularly smart and hero-prone for example. Lassie comes to mind." Harry grinned. "Sometimes this is done as a trial run to get a feel for the physical plane before actually being born as someone's offspring. Like wearing a certain type of clothing for a while, to get a feel for it. Or learning to drive a car before buying your own. Some souls don't need this, but human souls aren't the only ones that incarnate. Elemental spirits, for instance, while they have self-awareness, of a sort, they don't exactly have _soul and spirit_, but they can gain them if they grow and experience enough. They 'embody' animals sometimes, in preparation of being born if it comes down to it."

Harry thought about that for a while. Sirius was glad he fell silent, because he had trouble wrapping his mind around that info dump too. And where was all that data coming from anyway?

"But…" Harry scratched his head. "Can't they, like, use _people_ to, well, get a feel for the physical world?"

Sirius stared at Harry, the kid who was frowning next to him, oblivious to the scrutinizing stare of is godfather.

"If the person is sufficiently in tune with the higher planes, yes." Regulus confirmed. "But in most cases it's impossible. Animals don't have a soul, or free will, so it doesn't really take special permission to use one that way. Humans, or any being with self-awareness, would have to grant permission. It's why possessions are so rare, and even then they only happen because the ones getting possessed did something to themselves, or didn't take good enough care of themselves, or did many bad things, made so much karma that it overwhelms them when dark forces in the astral plane come knocking."

Sirius wondered if that's what happened to Voldemort, or if he was just crazy that way. Or if it was something in-between for the monster.

"Oh." But the child still had questions. "Why don't they just ask then? I mean, if there are so many people in the world…"

"Because most people wouldn't hear them." Regulus vanished, moving car and all, and reappeared on Harry's other side on the backseat. The boy jumped slightly, but settled down quickly. "And mostly it's because us humans tend to use our brains completely ass-backwards."

"Language, Regulus," Marius called out from where he was, in the driver's seat. "Mind the age of the one you're talking to."

Said young man ignored him, but did end the topic. "Basically, instead of a storage for memories, our brain should be more like an antenna, and our thoughts should happen on a higher level. Explaining more would mean going off on a tangent that we don't really have the time for right now. But we'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months, so we'll have more than enough time for it then. For now, maybe we can jump straight to whatever's really on your mind."

Harry stammered. "I… well, it's just. You know I dream about mom?" They did. And Sirius was glad Marius had mentioned it because otherwise Harry might not have had the courage to bring it up. "I wondered… if it wasn't just me imagining it, you know? I mean, when I dream about her, it's so _vivid_ and… even when the dreams go bad, the way you said that spirits can, like, coexist with us… I wondered if people could do that too?"

Regulus hummed in understanding. "The answer to your question is yes: your mother really has always been with you."

Harry's head dropped, but some invisible tension seemed to seep out of him, even though Sirius knew, somehow, there was still some left. Some that was only partly related to their topic of discussion.

So he stroked his godson's hair, then pulled him in his lap and laid his chin on his head. "The ones who love us never truly leave us, Harry." _And Lily definitely loves you. _"Your mom just went one step further than everyone else."_ So you don't have to keep fearing there's something wrong with you for seeing her while asleep._

"-. .-"

That settled it, Sirius internally fumed as he helped Harry out of the car. He was going to throttle Regulus after all. And all for one simple reason: the smug git had neglected (neglected!) to inform the party goers that they were coming!

On purpose!

And the smug bastard _dared_ think he, Sirius Orion Black, would be mollified by the knowledge that Dan, at least, knew ever since Regulus placed the first call. Like that was going to help any! No doubt all those _two dozen_ people were half-way to being drunk off their asses by now!

Not only that, Sirius fumed openly, but Regulus had the gall to let him stew, and only _then_ smirk and say he'd go and "soften them up" by casting sobering charms on the agents gathered there. He'd even gone so far as to chide him, in perfect deadpan, and say that they had no right to make them anxious and unable to enjoy their outing just because they'd decided to crash the party. Especially when they could make them all right as rain with just a few wand flicks.

Then he vanished from the car when they were five minutes away from their destination, not even letting him come up with a comeback.

The worst part of it, Sirius had to admit to himself, was that the reasoning made perfect sense. No, that wasn't quite the worst of it. The worst of it was that Sirius had only himself to blame for this. Himself and his Marauderish ways, which had rubbed off on his brother enough to make the sneaky git play jokes on him. Well, his nonchalance wasn't going to fool him from now on, that was for sure!

Yes.

It was _so_ on!

…

No.

Wait.

They'd agreed not to start prank wars for a while until Harry gets his feet under him. So… Sirius was utterly cut off from any right at enacting disproportionate retribution.

That little sneak! He'd planned this! Somehow he must have!

"Well, that's a scowl for the history book."

Sirius snapped out of his sulk and shifted his attention from his internal rant to the woman waiting just outside the entrance to the pub. Vesper Bond was waiting for them in all her –unfortunately married – glory. She was wearing a shoulder-less, purple dress that reached down to above her knees, elbow-length gloves of similar material, high heels of the same color, and had her hair gathered in a low bun at the back of her head.

Sirius felt Harry's grip on his hand tighten in apprehension. He didn't recognize her. An easy greeting was needed then. "Ah. You must be our welcoming committee."

"That I am." She nodded in greeting to Marius, who entered ahead of them to "stake out the area" and find Regulus. Then her eyes sought Harry's. Sirius rather thought his godson was doing a good job of forcing himself not to hide behind his legs. "Since I'm the only person Harry actually knows, I and the others figured it would be best if I did the introductions." She met Sirius' eyes again with that self-assured smile of hers. "Oh. And you can tag along I suppose."

Sirius had to smile wryly at that. He supposed he may as well make the introductions. "Vesper, Harry. Harry, Vesper."

"She's so pretty…" Harry mumbled dreamily, before he snapped out of his daze and blushed. Vesper's amusement was clear on her face. "H-Hello." Harry forced out, not remembering the name. "What do you mean I… know you?"

Vesper pouted. "You've already forgotten about me, green eyes?" Sirius felt Harry's grip harden before easing. In front of him, the woman reached into her purse with _both_ hands (even though the way said purse hung from her elbow shouldn't have made it possible for the motion to be so smooth and graceful), and pulled out… a wig. The right hand settled the fake hair over her head, and the index and middle fingers of her left pressed a unibrow against her forehead. "And I gave you a present just yesterday. Don't you _love_ me anymore?"

Harry's eyes looked like they'd grown to double size. "Sandy?" he breathed in disbelief.

The wig and unbirow disappeared into the assorted purple purse as quickly as they'd appeared. "I go by Vesper these days. Don't worry about calling me what you usually do though. I'll correct you however many times it takes."

"How very helpful," Sirius almost balked at Harry's sarcastic answer. "Knowing you, you're probably hoping I _don't_ get used to your real name, just so you can look all self-satisfied when you correct me, time after time."

"You know me too well, green eyes," Vesper quipped right back. "Although…" Her index finger pressed against the tip of her chin. "You can't really know how much of that attitude of mine was an act, can you?"

"I guess," Harry shrugged. "But I don't really care if it was. Your feelings are real, aren't they? I mean, if they weren't you wouldn't be here now."

Sirius couldn't help but stare at Harry incredulously. Was _this_ what the relationship between these two was like? And was he right in assuming _this_ woman was the whole reason his inquisitive mind hadn't been killed off by those poor excuses for human beings? If so, he owed her more than he did most others.

Vesper gave Harry one last searching look, examining his black dress pants, shoes and green shirt. "Good choice of colors. The shirt brings out your eyes."

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. "Thanks… But Mr. B-…Sirius picked them out." Ah, there was the Harry he'd come to know.

Seemingly taking pity on him, Vesper held out a hand and moved things along. "Shall we? Everyone should have their heads screwed on right by now, and the air should be clear as well at this point, if Regulus did his mojo properly."

Sirius almost shook his head at her casual reference to magic. If the Ministry knew of this ludicrous breach in the statute of secrecy, their heads would probably explode.

Harry accepted the proffered hand but didn't let go of Sirius', much to the latter's hidden delight. It meant that Harry trusted him at least as much as he did the not-librarian he'd known for years. Or at least cared about him enough to not want to hurt his feelings by outwardly choosing her over him, which was almost as well. "You ready?" Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded yes.

The pub actually proved a lot nicer than Sirius expected. It was a dim but uniformly-lit establishment with a fairly tall padded ceiling, vents and speakers dotting it regular intervals. Something like smooth jazz sounded from them, set at just the right volume to be properly heard and understood without drowning out people's voices and making it so they'd have to yell to communicate. It was actually kind of comfortable, and the place was definitely clean and well maintained.

There was a small dance floor in the middle, currently empty, with tables around it, and booths lining the walls. The chairs and sofas were nice and comfortable, covered in brown leather, and there was a bar at the far side of the locale, where some, but not too many, of the patrons were seated on standard tall stools. Interestingly enough, that's where Regulus was too, leaning with his side against the bar, talking to one of the men there. It made sense, Sirius thought, if those were the drunkest of the people there and needed the best sobering charms available. Shots tended to addle your brain the fastest after all.

All in all, compared to the dingy and dark Leaky Cauldron, the place was a great sight to see. And a far cry from what he'd feared.

But then Sirius mentally berated himself. Of _course_ this wasn't going to be one of those discos or randy places where things were noisy and people constantly bumped into each other because of how crowded it was, and how hard the music constantly battered their ears. The people spread all over the tables and booths here weren't rowdy _teenagers_. Almost half of them were older that _he_ was.

And now they were looking at them. Gradually, the talking died down, until only some of the people sitting farthest off from them were still murmuring among themselves. Sirius didn't really mind, but he could feel the tension settling on Harry with each new pair of eyes that landed on him. Fortunately, the men (and women, there were quite a few of them too, spouses or whatever else) didn't do more than raise their glass or bottles in greeting, although they didn't exactly look away from Harry either.

Amazingly enough, no one looked annoyed with their presence. The stares were mostly curious, and Sirius even caught a few that carried intense scrutiny, before the men relaxed and gave him subtle glances, as if approving of what he'd done about Harry's image.

Lord Black's eyes (not that his jeans and black shirt made him look the part) sought his brother, and he was about to tug Harry forward when… "Hey kid!" One of the guys closest called out. He was about Sirius' age, with short brown hair and a round chin. His eye color couldn't be seen in the light, but he gave off a pleasant enough vibe. "Nice duds."

Harry looked at him, as if he didn't expect to be addressed. "Er… thanks." The awkwardness could be sense pouring off him. "Sirius got them for me." He blurted, for lack of anything better.

"Yes, you said so before," Vesper noted. "Although I agree it bears repeating. Men who aren't color blind are ever so rare in these times." She winked at Sirius, then gave a pointed look to the pink shirt the man who'd broken the silence was wearing. Even Sirius had to agree it didn't exactly "go" with the theme of the place.

Or his yellow pants.

The man in question puffed out his chest in dismissive defiance. "I'll have you know that, until your vaunted feminism happened, pink used to be the most masculine color ever!"

"Yes, for small boys," the other man sharing his table snickered into his beer glass, earning himself a glare that went ignored.

"And _blue_ was the feminine one!" The guy pressed on, taking a swig out of his own bottle. Then he looked at Harry with utter seriousness. "Don't mind them, kid. They're just like everyone else, making fun of the color of LOVE. Don't _ever_ let me hear about you doing the same."

Sirius had to wonder if that man's inclinations were in any way unusual. So much so that he almost missed Harry's reply.

His godson blinked, then tilted his head and _gazed_. "I'll make sure to keep it quiet around you then." The area suddenly became extraordinarily chatter-free. "And denounce any and all claims to that effect as _vicious lies_."

Sirius would have laughed along with everyone nearby if his mouth didn't freeze in that proud grin he suspected he'd end up wearing most of the time from now on. That had been such a _James_ thing to say.

Sirius made a mental note to find out the name of the man and thank him later. He'd effectively dispersed all lingering reservations that Harry might have had about coming, and did the same for whoever thought their arrival would spoil the rest of their night.

Not that they planned to stay all that long, but it was the thought that counted.

Catching Regulus' eye, he saw his brother motion with his head in the direction of the booth near the corner, to the left of the bar. Recognizing Marius, and the other two people there, the unusual trio of wizard, woman and soon-to-be preteen made their way over.

"Uhm… H-hi." Harry stuttered.

Only for Sirius to feel as if that guy earlier may as well have not said anything to relax the atmosphere. As soon as Harry was in front of Daniel Reed, he clammed up. Sirius supposed that was what happened when a tiny, underfed kid was put in front of a man that was nearly as tall as most other adults… when sitting down.

The wizard wanted to sigh or palm his face. Noticing the glance of James (why did he have to be called _James?) _and a similar look on Dan's face, he could only shrug and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, for encouragement. Maybe they should have asked Harry what, exactly, he wanted to tell these people, and coached him on the way over on how to deliver the message. Sending Marius a nearly pleading look, he almost expected the man to say something to get things moving, like he'd done at lunch.

Dan had different ideas. Slightly narrowing his eyes when Harry looked down and scratched the back of his head, the large human turned, facing the boy from where he sat, on the edge of the corner sofa. Sirius knew he could be a lot nicer than his gigantic frame let on…

Which was why the first words that came out of his mouth were such a shock. "This job involving you. This surveillance operation on your former neighborhood was the absolute worst assignment I've ever been on."

Harry looked up, startled, then visibly shrunk.

Sirius gaped at how brutally blunt the man had just been. How flatly his every word had been uttered.

"I hated it," Dan went on, seemingly not caring about what it was doing to Harry. "I hated every single second of it." Harry's head dropped again. "Every morning I hated that I had to live through another day of it." Sirius opened his mouth, but Marius shook his head, from where he sat across the table from Dan, and sternly stared him down. "And every evening I hated that I had only a few hours before I had to sleep – assuming I even could – and start again."

Sirius almost spoke again, but a grip on his arm made his glare snap to the left, only for confusion to flare when he realized it was his brother, silently warning him against saying anything.

Dan acted as if no one besides him and Harry even existed. "But you know something?"

Sirius knew damn well what he wanted to do, but with Marius and Regulus both looking at him that way, he barely managed to hold himself back. Glaring the other way, he ignored an expectant Vesper and noticed that the other people at nearby tables were keeping an eye on the situation, but showing no sort of misgivings. Only patience, as if they knew what was coming.

The quiet stretched for a minute, then another. All the while, Dan kept his eyes on Harry and waited, until Harry _had_ to hesitantly look up.

And when he did, Dan's emotionless face thawed, allowing something like satisfaction to color it. "I don't regret it at all." Harry blinked, startled. Not understanding. Sirius actually could empathize with his reaction. But Dan raised a hand and reached out, prodding Harry right in the middle of his forehead. "I don't regret taking the assignment at all. Despite the things I saw done, I don't regret seeing it through the end." His hand moved to muss Harry's hair, then stayed there. "I'm glad I asked for it and saw it through. Because, even though it was from a distance, I got to know _you_."

Sirius was glad he didn't have a direct view of Harry's face. Or that Harry didn't have a direct sight of his for that matter, seeing as how he couldn't _quite_ keep his wonder and embarrassment off his face. He should have known Dan wouldn't be cruel just for the hell of it.

At length, Harry spoke, overwhelmed and wonderstruck. Sniffed really. "You really mean it, don't you…" It wasn't even a question. It was the sort of thing people said when they couldn't really wrap their minds around some enormous revelation.

Dan didn't say anything, but he did reach into a chest pocket and handed Harry a handkerchief, which the boy bashfully accepted and blew his nose into. Sirius supposed he'd already cried his fill that day and couldn't really manage another episode of waterworks so soon. "Keep it," Dan said before the boy could figure out if he was supposed to hand it back or not. The grin was clearly heard in his next sentence. "You clearly need it more than I do."

Harry pouted adorably –Sirius wasn't glad anymore that he didn't have a direct view of his face – and seemed to be struggling for a comeback.

He found one. "Yeah, well…" _Come on Harry, you're a Marauder's son!_ "What you said doesn't even make sense!"

Sirius blinked. Well, that was a lousy comeback. He had his work cut out for him.

"Oh really?" Dan challenged.

"Yeah!" Harry seemed to be picking up steam. "You said you hated it but you're glad about it!" He jabbed his finger at the man. "You can't have both!"

"Sure you can," Dan responded with a dismissive wave. "Say you're sick and you need to swallow a bitter pill. You hate that you have to take the pill, but when your sickness goes away afterwards you're glad you took it, right?"

Harry scowled and worked his brain, trying to come up with something to say.

He failed.

The boy's shoulders dropped, but he childishly refused to admit defeat, looking pointedly away. It was a testament to how screwed up his life had been up to that point that the people around him saw it as a good sign instead of bad.

"Ah, _male pride_," Dan glibly noted, making Harry redden. "Never had to deal with it in a kid before. I've only ever had daughters after all." That got Harry to look at him again. Askance, but it was better than nothing. "Maybe you'll meet them someday." He seemed to survey Harry with that same look that all fathers could apply when judging whether a male was or wasn't good enough for their little girl. "Then again, maybe that's not such a good idea." Harry hid his disappointment, but Sirius still saw it. "They'd both be liable to play dress-up with an adorable thing like you. I fear your _male pride_ would not survive the experience."

Harry worked his mouth, then scowled again and turned around, crossing his arms and puffing his cheeks in annoyance.

No longer in the boy's line of sight, Dan allowed himself that devious half-smile that, according to his subordinates, always meant some grand plan had come together. It made Sirius feel a bit silly for reacting so defensively on Harry's behalf earlier. He should have _known_ what the man was doing. Had Harry really given him such tunnel vision when it came to him?

Stepping around him, Vesper nudged Harry in the back. "Come on, we'd better get away and meet some of the others. Maybe you can actually win one of these teasing matches and heal you _wounded pride_."

Harry shot Vesper a betrayed look and refused to ask for or accept a holding hand as he stalked off, although he really _only_ followed at Vesper's side while trying to make it look as though it was the other way around.

Trying and failing.

Sirius was going to accompany them, but Regulus shot him a look and went instead.

Well. He supposed that if Harry wanted him along, he'd have given some sign of it before storming off. And if he was finally going to act like a child, they may as well let him do it without coddling.

So Sirius instead took a seat on the edge of the three-side corner sofa, right in front of Daniel. The man didn't look guarded, but Sirius rather thought he expected him to voice a reproach of some sort. Sirius wasn't about to do it, not when it had worked so well. He thought about saying thanks, or something along the lines of "That was a nice thing you did" but figured the man already had replies prepared for those, and that would just cheapen the feeling.

So instead, he waited for an idea to pop up. Intuition worked awesome like that, he'd been told. And there it was. "That was an interesting comparison you made."

Dan looked up sharply, measuring him and his words. It was obvious he'd heard the implied question. _Did you have to swallow a bitter pill of some sort at some point in the past?_ Sirius didn't outright ask it, because he wasn't exactly _friends_ with the man, so he didn't really have the right to pry.

The blue-clad, off-duty, burly security chief leaned back, though one hand was still around his glass of whisky. "Running surveillance is pretty much a thankless job," he started. "And while it's not as 'dirty' as some others, it's not exactly pleasant either. You get to see the nasty little secrets of other countries." His eyes studied the dark liquid in his glass. "The seedy underbelly of other nations in gritty detail. And even though you can, intellectually, know that things may be as bad as that in your _own_ country, most of us can only stave off disgust and depression by telling ourselves that we do what we do just so our _own_ home country won't turn out like that. Just so our _own_ _countrymen_ don't have to be like that."

Sirius listened. He had a vague feeling he knew where this was going, but he couldn't be sure. Or that he wanted to be right about his assumption.

"And then you get an assignment like this one, and you see that, really, your own countrymen aren't at all better. Even worse in some places. It's like a kick to the teeth. So in order to hold onto that fragile image you made of your life and yourself, you fall back on that last little hope, that even if your fellow British _are_ that rotten, at least you'll never turn out that way."

Ah. So that's what it was. It made the lone wizard sitting at that booth feel uncomfortable, to say the least. The blues that began to hum from the speakers in the ceiling was oddly appropriate.

"I used to ridicule my two colleagues that headed this surveillance operation before I took over. 'Can't stomach watching some domestic chores?' I'd ask, or something similarly ignorant. I asked to be assigned to it just so I could confirm they really were just blowing things out of proportion. Score kick to the teeth number two. But it wasn't what I actually had to _watch_ that got to me. I know myself, so I could see that I was actually taking it worse than the other two. I was in denial of what I was seeing for longer than them. I'm not a stranger to abuse cases, but this one was just bizarre. I mean, usually abusers harm _all_ their children, instead of making such a blatant distinction between the two. And the ignorance of the _neighborhood_ was unbelievable. I couldn't understand how it could run so deep. Even saying that Vernon and Petunia's open treatment of Dudley made it hard to think they were abusers, I couldn't believe no one _noticed_.

"Then it was Thursday evening and I drove home, not knowing that I'd get to see that ignorance, in _my_ case, ran even deeper than that."

Sirius shifted in his seat, listening intently. He didn't need to watch Marius and James to see them paying as much attention as he did.

"Nothing much happened that night. My wife and my daughters noticed my mood and gave me space, or so I thought. Then came morning, and the routine seemed to go on as normal, until my youngest told me something. Breakfast was already over, and my wife and my older daughter had gone off to get ready for work and school, so only little Lora had stayed behind. I don't even remember what it was, probably because I was immersed in the morning paper. So she repeated and asked me a question and I snapped at her. I don't even remember what that was about either. But what came after… I can see it even now," he'd stopped shifting his glass, and his eyes had taken that far-off look of reminiscence. "I berated her for being a nuisance, though not in those exact words, and sent her to her room.

"And instead of rightly asking why, or reacting in any other way, she just meekly bowed her head and said 'Yes papa,' in that same, emotionally-drained voice I'd been hearing for the past week in my headphones."

Sirius grimaced. He wanted to send some sort of support across the table, but he had no clue how.

"I froze in my seat, and didn't even notice her leaving the kitchen. For an instant, it was someone else's boy bowing his head next to me. Then he was gone, but so was I, and it was that big, fat whale Vernon there, snapping at my little girl."

Sirius began to feel nauseous.

"I came out of it when I heard my daughter's door being shut with a bit more force than usual, and it was my instinctive impulse to go up there and lecture her about proper indoor behavior that broke the dam and made me have a look at what I'd been doing to my life. I've never laid a hand on my daughters or my wife, but I was far from an ideal person. I'd been growing distant and cranky, for years before I even took that assignment. I'd blamed it on my job, but it was just an excuse. It had become bad enough that my presence in the house made my wife and oldest daughter more wary than happy to see me. Made me realize they'd avoided me, the previous day, for their own peace of mind rather than mine. Only little Lora still tried to be a ray of sunshine, not really understanding why her family didn't seem to get along."

Dan lifted his whisky glass and stared at it, then put it back down. His posture slackened somewhat. Right forearm holding the weight of his higher frame on the tabletop. "I almost lost that too. I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of my little girl crying in her sister's arms, asking why her daddy hated her. Or the resigned anger and _fear_ on Mairin's face when she saw me coming into Lora's room. The way she hid her little sister behind her and started saying that she'd come into the room uninvited so I shouldn't punish Lora for it."

Sirius Black could only look at the man as he propped the side of his face in his open palm. Given what he'd seen of him over the past two months, he was having serious trouble reconciling the image he'd built about him with the one he was describing.

Dan stared at the whisky as it again soundlessly sloshed in the glass in his left hand. "I could see it on Mae's face, that she expected her words to fall on deaf ears. That was how low their opinion of me had gotten." He sighed then, still looking at the glass, but at the same time not really seeing it. "I apologized. They cried. We hugged it out. But even now I can't think back to that day without feeling like I'm about to throw up. Even though my home life is wonderful now. Even though my relationship with my daughters and wife has never been better, I'll never be able to think _around_ the fact that I owe it all to the fact that I was "lucky" enough-" he almost spat that word "-to witness utter misery being forced upon a little boy not even the same age as my youngest. That I ended up _needing_ something so horrible to exist in order for me to realize my own shortcomings."

Sirius really felt bad now. They hadn't been _friends_ before that evening, but Dan knew more or less everything relevant about him – Regulus had had to brief him and the rest after all – and now he'd effectively confessed his worst memory, something so intimate that you couldn't really listen to it and _not _empathize and become friends with the man.

Or without being a totally heartless bastard which Sirius liked to think he had managed to not turn into.

What should he do? Or say?

As it turned out, nothing.

"Um… Mister?" Sirius looked to the left, across the table. Harry was so small, his head barely reached above the table level, and even that was because his hair was a messy bird's nest. But there he was, hesitantly tugging on the man's pant leg. Green eyes wide and innocent, clear even in the dim light. Tentatively asking. "A-are you okay?"

Dan treated the little boy to a smile so _brittle_ that Sirius momentarily thought he was seeing someone else. "I'll be fine." Even then, so emotionally spent, he knew better than to lie to the boy's face and say he already was okay. His morals were strong, no matter what he thought of himself.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked worriedly. "You looked so sad just now."

It was then that Sirius realized Harry was alone. A few tables away, Vesper was getting up from her seat, only now noticing Harry had slipped away at some point during the conversation she was having with the other two seated there. Had he somehow seen or felt the man's sadness? How perceptive was he, really?

Sirius could only wonder what it was that made him so bravely come and get involved, when he should have been even more leery of doing so in such an uncomfortable situation. How he did not feel at all awkward was a mystery.

Dan's smile wasn't brittle anymore, but it was still strained. "I was just remembering a bad memory." He sat straighter, trying to banish the gloom. Sirius noticed he didn't answer whether or not he was sure he'd be fine. "It'll go away. You shouldn't worry your big heart about broody old men."

"You're not _that_ old," Harry mumbled, shooting a pointed look at Marius, as if pointing out the comparison, then looking back at Dan. Straight up at his face. "You look like Sirius."

Everyone, including a returning Vesper and Regulus, just stared. Sirius wondered where on earth Harry saw the resemblance. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Sirius registered how the music had been turned off, and how there was no sound in that entire establishment besides Harry's voice. He supposed he'd see _everyone_ paying attention to them if he bothered to scope the area, but he didn't. Like them, could only watch what was in front of him.

Harry didn't see them, or the attention. He didn't care. He just pinned the huge man's _gaze_ in place with his own and didn't let go. It looked as if Dan wouldn't have been able to look away even if he wanted to. "You look like Sirius did during lunch today." The wizard in question felt something both cold and hot press on him from all directions.

"…"

"It feels the same too. It feels _awful_." Sirius felt his stomach twist. _That_ was why Harry really fumbled at the table! "I didn't really know what it felt like, I just thought it felt familiar, and now I know why. It feels the same as when Sirius told me how he _thinks_ he failed my mom and dad and me." Sirius very, very slowly put his beer down. "As if I'll ever believe _that_." The boy was oblivious to the effect his words were having on his godfather. "I don't think your wife would want you to feel guilty because she died."

Sirius was glad he'd put the beer down, because otherwise he might have done like the random guy two tables behind and dropped it on the floor, shattering it. Apparently, Harry's perceptiveness had limits too.

Dan snickered then tried to stop but failed, then started laughing. It started slow and staggered, but then he was laughing so hard that he had to hold himself off the table by one arm, and clutch his side with the other. The man never entered hysterics, exactly, but it was damn close.

Next to him, Harry could only stare in bewilderment. Then he noticed other people snickering or looking on in disbelief, and realized their exchange had been witnessed by _everyone_ there. All two dozens of them.

"What?" He asked around, innocent confusion clearly broadcast. "What did I say?"

Dan had _almost_ managed to stop laughing, but started again.

Sirius actually _did_ understand the man now, as he tried and mostly succeeded to muffle his own laughter, although he did vow to replay the memory later and have a good laugh then. It figured that it took a little kid to point out the obvious. That you should NOT act and feel as though someone died without anyone having actually, well, _died_.

After a minute or two, Dan finally managed to get a hold of himself, wiped some tears away and cleared his throat, straightening up again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then released it, then took another, and after he exhaled again, he opened his eyes again and treated Harry to the first, real, unencumbered smile Sirius had even seen on his face. "My wife's not dead, shrimp." His revelation had a bit more than the fair level of glee. "Just because I only mentioned my daughters doesn't mean I'm a widower."

Harry gaped like a fish. And just when it looked as though his _own_ reaction would make everyone take their own turn at laughing, he dropped the bomb that Sirius had been, in equal parts, hoping for and dreading. "Then why are you acting as if she is?"

The next five minutes were full of Dan staring at Harry in stupefied wonder, and everyone in the pub laughing their asses off. Sirius was the only exception. He tried his best to figure out if Harry was making fun of the man, but he wasn't. He was honest to Merlin sincere in his question.

Eventually, the general mirth calmed, and the stupefied wonder of the face of the off-duty bulky security chief was swept away by the realization Sirius hoped to see. The realization he'd have made sure to talk into him if the man somehow missed what Harry's childish honesty had unwittingly just guided Sirius himself to.

"Everyone in my life is fine, kid." Dan's murmur was low but clear. "Everything in my life is fine…" He said, more to himself. As if finally reaching that conclusion after years of falling short of the goal. His unfocused gaze sharpened again, and this once it was _he_ that kept Harry's gaze in his. Something the broken man of before would not have been able to do, especially not with such tenderness. "Just as I said, it was only a bad memory, about some things that weren't totally resolved."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently. A normal kid would have left it at that. A normal kid would have run off to play. A normal kid would have been unable to realize that _none_ of the earlier laughter had been aimed at him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Harry James Potter, temporarily of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, was most assuredly _not_ normal.

The question made the large man laugh again, and his smile wasn't strained anymore. He tussled Harry's hair, then seemed to think, to weigh the boy's pout against some invisible scale. Soon, he reached a decision, turned in his seat, leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the top of Harry's head. "Bless you, child," he spoke in his hair, before straightening and saying, earnestly, meeting the young man's gaze a final time. "You've already done more than you can possibly imagine."

Once the excitement died down, Vesper and Regulus led Harry away, to get acquainted with the people he hadn't actually met by that point. Sirius watched him as he grew increasingly comfortable and excited, feeling blessed and humbled that fate had somehow entrusted him with such a wonderful child to watch over and raise. Across from him, the surprisingly silent James Bond watched with a keen eye, Marius had that soft smile he always wore when he was in a good mood (which seemed to be most of the time lately) and Dan was… at peace. It was the only way Sirius could describe it.

And all it took was one child to ask one honest question.

And people thought innocence was a bad thing. Ha!

Feeling his spirits rise, Sirius felt it wouldn't hurt too much to partake of some stronger spirits of a different kind. Since he was a wizard, he'd be able to drink quite a bit without feeling the effect.

So he got up from the booth and made his way to the bar to order some gin. All the while, he kept his eyes on his godson, using his ever present magical radar to easily navigate between the chairs, tables and other patrons. Soon enough, he was placing his order.

"The kid's amazing, isn't he?" an unknown voice said from the bar stool right next to him. Sirius reluctantly tore his eyes from Harry, but he didn't recognize the speaker. Not that the guy seemed to mind his name not being known. "Our boss was kind of notorious for being strict and abrasive, worse than M really, until he took this assignment a few years ago. Then he had a period of about a month when he was a lot worse, much to our shock." Sirius wondered if it was the drink that made the man so open. Probably not, since Regulus had sobered everyone up.

"But then he got steadily better," a different voice said. Sirius blinked, then looked behind at the barman. He was a wiry but well-built man in his forties, with hair greyer than it should have been. His hands deftly manipulated the bottles, ice cubes and glass as he prepared him a different drink than he'd ordered. "We knew the general picture. We do, after all, work in intelligence. It wasn't hard to find out what the stick up his ass was." The wizard stared at the "barman" in surprise, before it dawned on him. It figured, he thought in well-hidden wonder, that MI6 would commandeer the whole locale for this occasion. It was likely that at least a third of the people there had the skills to pass themselves off as bartenders.

"Hard to imagine isn't it?" the one next to him picked up the conversation. "Or maybe not, given the size of the guy."

Sirius turned around and looked at Reed, who was talking lowly with James and Marius about something. Three guesses what. Despite his stature, it was hard to imagine him as an angry jerk now. Then again, Sirius hadn't known him for long, and he _had_ just witnessed him kiss Harry on the head, much like he probably did with his daughters every time he sent them to school or saw them to bed.

"We always did wonder why he never became a double-0, seeing as how he could have probably qualified if he wanted. We assumed he'd applied but been denied because he was just too huge to be inconspicuous," the guy on the barstool said. "But I guess it was true after all, that he never applied. He wasn't maladjusted, _broken_ enough for the job. But that's just the thing. If it wasn't for this assignment with Harry, he _would_ have ended up in a really bad way."

Sirius didn't really know why the guy was telling him all these things. So he hummed and turned around, reaching for the… whatever it was. It looked interesting enough at least.

Grabbing the glass, he made to pull, but it didn't budge. The "bartender" still held onto it in a surprisingly firm grip. He smiled at Sirius, but it wasn't a totally welcoming one. "Your brother's the one that provided MI6 with this assignment, so it's him we'll be thanking for indirectly exposing our boss to the kid. And, by extension, for getting the stick out of his ass and making life generally easier on our whole department." Sirius quirked an eyebrow. Even though the older man was making light of the situation, he could tell they actually _did_ care about Dan himself. Cared that he almost screwed up his life but had the fortune to find himself before he messed it up completely.

Lord Black wondered how many of the other people currently in that pub Harry had had a similar effect on. Even if just by showing them they really couldn't complain about whatever troubles they had, when _he_ had it so much worse but pushed on. Looking into the eyes of the not-barman, he suspected he could confirm at least one.

"You'll take good care of him, right?" said "bartender" asked, although it was also a statement. Normally, Sirius would think it laughable that a nonmagical person would actually slip a hint of a threat, but it was _Harry_ they were doing it on behalf of.

And these were MI6 surveillance officers. The type of people you'd expect to have no emotions whatsoever. If _these_ people had grown fond enough of Harry to actually play the overprotective routine, however ineffective they'd be against him, Sirius could definitely respect it. "I suspect he'll meet Dan's daughters soon enough," he drily told them. "So depending on how his attitude fluctuates, you'll be able to tell whether or not I do. Or, you know," Sirius wandlessly cast a minor revulsion hex on the "barman's" hand, freeing his glass and making his point that they wouldn't really be able to "enforce" any measures against him even if they tried. Free to take his drink, he turned around. "You could always just ask him." He deliberately didn't say whether he meant Dan or Harry.

In the future, Harry may meet any or all of the people currently celebrating there, but that was still an "if." It wasn't as if he trusted any of them besides Dan, and they should be able to guess that much.

He also cast a discrete color change spell and a switching spell on his glass in quick succession as he turned around. The now clear liquor in it swapped for the other guy's vodka, though the glasses didn't switch.

_As if_ Sirius was going to fall for such an obvious prank attempt. Whatever laxative, or whatever else, the guy had put in that "custom drink," he wouldn't be the one falling for it. And he'd made sure to watch if the vodka guy actually drank from it, which he had, so it was safe.

Come to think of it, Regulus had been in a conversation with them when he and Harry came in. He'd have to see about finding out if he was in on it.

Later, he and Marius would leave by portkey and meet with Remus on top of the Aviva Tower in London. Regulus would go elsewhere and jump back in time with past-Sirius, the Sirius that had just returned from Shangri-La. They would be joined by the past-Marius that had only just returned from The Trial.

Sirius was particularly proud of how he'd planned all those jumps in advance.

He was also proud when his "drinking buddy" ran off to the men's room as if the dogs of hell were after him. Sirius inquired with the "bartender" after his well-being with such a perfect genuineness that they both knew it was totally fake.

Then he winked at the man and wandlessly summoned a bottle of gin as he walked back to his booth. He'd gone to the bar to get a gin, and he was damn well going to have some.


	22. Epilogue: Reversed Continuity

**A/N:** Well everyone, this is it. Thanks to all reviewers and people who sent me private messages. I hope this epilogue ties things up. A sequel is in my head, but it won't come out right away. You can still guess what it will be about if you really try though. Or maybe not, since the hints I put it are pretty minor, and happened very early on in the story, as early as the first chapter.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Epilogue: Remus Lupin and the Reversed Continuity**

"-. .-"

-August 29, 1988-

If he ever had to enter that large hall again, it would be too soon. Or, at least, that was what Remus John Lupin had thought back in July, upon reaching the end of that farce of a trial for he who used to be -and thank Merlin once again _was_- one of his best friends. Well, given the distinct absence of James Potter, was _the_ best friend at this point.

Petigrew didn't even bear mentioning.

In hindsight, the werewolf figured it should have been obvious that if Sirius was going to do _anything_ to get back at the Magical World for what they did to him, it would be in the hall with the GMP. It was just like him to want to one-up the ones that put him through the wringer, and what better place to do it but the same place they did it? Besides, after the GMP was installed (and subsequently thrashed and repaired), the Great Wizengamot Meeting Hall started to be used a lot more than before, despite its huge size.

Remus wondered if anyone knew that Sirius owned the patent for the GMP and made a killing off every Wizengamot session held there. Probably not. It wasn't like the members actually had to pay when attending meetings, and the ultimate fate of the public funds funneled into the maintenance of the Grand Hall wasn't really anyone's concern but that of the people handling finances and the Hall of Records. Only spectators had to pay visitors' fees, and no one really thought, much of where that money went. So without actually being faced with the documents showing Sirius as the beneficiary of 25% of all those Galleons, no one would think to ask anything.

Case in point, everyone assumed the Department of Mysteries developed the charms and runework, and believed the ministry owned the patents and, thus, got the lion's share of the money.

Once a marauder, always a marauder, Remus thought. Even the rat had lived up to that so-called slogan. His final act was essentially fooling _everyone_ into thinking he was a martyred hero and getting an Order of Merlin (Third Class) awarded posthumously. Well, everyone had believed it except Regulus Black and a few others, all of whom, strangely enough, were part of the House of Black. The supposedly darkest house ever, barring the Malfoys who didn't really surpass them, only matched them in notoriety.

The irony of the ages, that's what it was.

It was actually a big surprise that no one ended up rubbing it in his face that, despite being as close as a brother to Sirius, he, Remus Lupin, had actually believed him guilty immediately, extenuating circumstances or no. After that initial confrontation that Regulus Black had engineered, back in the States, Remus had thought he'd have to fight tooth and nail to repair the bond, but the younger Black never really brought it up. He'd even assisted Sirius into sneaking back into the Ministry to meet with him –and hadn't _that_ been a mind-blowing revelation, a couple of days later, to learn that he'd met a Sirius that was months _older_ than the one he'd seen a few hours earlier.

Just a couple of days into that 2-month time loop where they stayed at Regulus Black's penthouse, Remus realized the relationship between the two Black brothers was as close as the one between Sirius and _James_ had been. Remus would have had misgivings about it –thought Sirius was replacing James with him- but it would have been completely stupid. Regulus _was_ his actual brother after all, and it wasn't like there was still any animosity left between he, Remus Lupin, and Regulus Black at that point.

Not just because the man had basically done better by Sirius than he himself had, but he'd also done better by _James_ too. The things he set in motion, the security and failsafes around Harry Potter, the endless hours he'd invested into researching ways to get that dark intruder _out_ (Remus' heart clenched at the thought of the soul shard), the fact that he risked life in _Azkaban_ by creating such a breach in the statute of secrecy, just to have the Secret Service run surveillance in Little Whinging…

Really, he'd have had to be a right bastard to want to remain enemies with the younger wizard after all that. It felt right knowing that he'd cleared the air between the two of them even _before_ he'd learned of it all. Before he even knew they'd be traveling back in time a ludicrous two months.

And hadn't _that_ been hilarious in purpose. To go back in time 60 days just so they could get Harry acclimatized to his better life and, thus, render him able to properly enjoy the party scheduled for the second time his birthday came around, on the next-to-last day of the time loop.

It totally fit Sirius' modus operandi. Just like the not-grin currently on his face did. Not that Remus was looking, even if Sirius _was_ right across from him, on the other side of the hall. The still undeclared Lord Black had taken residence in the spectator stands to the right of the entrance, while Remus himself had chosen the corresponding chair in the one on the left. And just to keep people perplexed, everyone else in the House of Black that was attending the Wizengamot Meeting (except Regulus who was probably invisibly hanging upside-down on the ceiling somewhere) was on the same side as Remus as well. Cassiopeia, Arcturus, Marius, Andromeda, Ted and even-

"Eureka!"

-Pollux Black.

Pollux Black who'd just randomly snapped his fingers and voiced his gleeful excitement, as he seemed to do at random intervals. His intuition was just weird that way. Pollux Black who'd just adopted that look that told all nearby that they should brace themselves because he'd either gotten a ludicrously dangerous ("I prefer the word 'creative,' thank you very much!") idea, or a glorious epiphany that foretold the creation of the world's Eighth Wonder. The next words out of his mouth would determine which.

"Grandson is going to be so _jealous_!"

Remus had to look away in order to hide his snicker. So it was the latter, he thought with a wry grin he never was able to smother when it came to something like this. He supposed that meant he'd have to deal with a sulking Sirius for a day or two again. The duration would boil down, as it always did, to how much time Harry spent gushing over his great uncle's latest invention.

"So." Arcturus Black inquired from the seat on the other side of the man. His eyes roamed across the hall with a feigned disinterested air, and his hands were on top of one another, balanced on the silver-transfigured dragon head that was the handle of his cane. "What is it this time? A hair plucking spell?" Remus had to force himself not to look in the same direction as the former Patriarch. He did _not_ have faith in his ability to keep a straight face if it turned out that Arcturus really _was_ looking at Dumbledore as he asked that question. "Ah, never you mind. That would make Lord Black gag. So that leaves only the possibility of a new episode in the gift-giving saga."

"Not a bad idea," Pollux said absently.

Marius, from next to Arcturus tapped his fingers against the left armrest of his chair a couple of times. "You, brother mine, have no compassion."

"Hush you," Pollux, still half-removed from reality, told his brother and cousin. "I'm visualizing something beyond your limited perception."

Which was only half in jest.

Remus sympathized with Sirius, he really did, but it didn't make the situation any less amusing. Sirius spent months upon months in time loops preparing Harry's new life (and fixing his own sanity), then two months treating the kid like he was made of glass while somehow not making it obvious he was coddling him, scared as he was of doing something wrong. He even pulled it off, getting Harry to unwind and accept his better life prospects, during those eight weeks living at Regulus' penthouse.

Then he'd proceeded to give Harry the best birthday party he could set up (family only though), and had delighted in his godson's happiness…

… only to feel completely sidelined two days later when they returned to Grimmauld Place and Pollux proceeded to totally make him feel like an amateur when he presented Harry with his belated birthday gift.

It had been perfect. A gleaming, smooth, pearl-white orb, 10 centimeters in diameter, which floated 1.5 meters in the air and projected an interactive map of the observed universe upon speaking the words "Embrace Eternity." It erased all visible evidence of your surroundings and left you standing in deep space, circled by stars, galaxies, gas giants and comets that you could zoom closer to and farther away from with a simple touch. It even muted all sound except speech. Remus still hadn't figured out _how_ Pollux had managed to render the magic so selective.

Harry had absolutely _loved_ it, and didn't allow it out of his immediate vicinity for a whole week afterwards. It even let holders stare at a universe from outside as it were.

Remus had actually been kind of annoyed with Pollux after a while, since _he'd_ ended up being the one that had to pacify his peeved, constantly sullen friend during those days. It didn't help that, while he didn't _gloat_, Pollux didn't really try to hide the fact that he was pleased Harry preferred his gift over all others. It must have been the biggest hit to Sirius' pride in recent history. Even now, Harry activated it every night before going to sleep.

During one of Sirius' put-out rants, Remus thought he caught something about Pollux supposedly getting back at him for forgetting to invite him to Harry's birthday party.

Remus didn't think that was the reason Pollux did it. If it _had_ been, he wouldn't have kept on inventing things and essentially giving Harry some sort of gift every other week. Sure, the man obviously loved this game of one-upmanship they'd entered, especially since Sirius had failed to win even _once_ (clearly, making his grandson jealous was what Pollux derived amusement from). But there was no way Pollux' stream of ideas and -and here Remus _had_ to sincerely admit- sheer magical _genius_ would be so single-mindedly focused only on providing Harry with amazing presents that were equal parts toys and brain workout equipment.

Pollux was bound to start working on projects and inventions again, no question, after recovering from that condition that had prevented him from doing so over the past several decades. But there was definitely an underlying tactic here. All of it aimed at hooking Harry up on the wonders of the magical world, offsetting the bleak and grim view of it he'd been given at the onset. And as he did that, subtly encouraging Harry's interest in all magical topics, the old wizard spared some thought to giving _Remus_ himself a part to play.

The werewolf never expected it, but he was grateful to the man. It was mostly owed to him that he'd managed to find a role in Harry's life after everything that happened. After he failed him so completely. It would have gotten Remus contemplative, had he the time to brood.

As it was, however, Remus didn't have time to reminisce anymore because the doors to the hall closed with an ominous bang, and the (not-so-)honorable Chief Warlock (Remus wondered how long he'd be able to hold onto that post) opened the session with three strikes of his gavel.

The court scribe stood up. "Quiet in the Hall! The time is now 10:00 A.M and this Regular Meeting of the Wizengamot is called to order on this day of August 29, 1988. Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore presiding."

Lupin only half-listened to the proceedings. He wasn't interested in all the introductory steps and the motions the Wizengamot had to go through every time, outlining a recap of the previous session and the issues left unsolved. He was there just to see what would happen when the new Lord Black finally assumed his mantle officially. The notice of a new Lord's ascendance had been recorded on the Great Parchment as soon as it happened, all those months ago. No one knew who it was going to be, although the general consensus was that Regulus Black was it.

Remus, of course, knew better. And he was also interested in seeing how fast logic would fail his fellow wizards and witches when it was shown who it really was.

Ah, and finally the time came. The scribe stood and read. "On the morn of June 1st of this year, 1988, it was recorded by Great Parchment that a new Lord had arisen to the Headship of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It is customary to invite him to take his seat before the session proceeds further."

"Very well," Dumbledore said blandly. Remus had to give him credit for not looking around for whoever it was. Sirius wasn't hiding, but he _was_ wearing a pretty big over-robe to his official vestment, and he had his Lordship Crest disillusioned for good measure. "Lord Black, please step forward and take your seat."

In a move that could have seemed rehearsed, the entire hall looked at Remus Lupin. Or rather, the row where he was sitting next to everyone else. The werewolf wondered how many were thinking that Pollux would be the one stepping forward. Although the wizard did see that quite a few people were warily looking around in case the Black Phantom appeared out of nowhere.

So immersed everyone was in their staring at that side of the hall that Sirius had time to dislodge his over-robe and walk three levels down before people finally caught on to what was happening and snapped their heads back to gawp at him. A ripple of disbelief and astonishment washed through the room, and some witches even gasped at seeing the former convict so brazenly taking the floor.

Remus almost gave into the impulse to muffle his laughter by shoving his fist in his mouth, but he didn't want to disrupt the semblance of utter serenity that blanketed the seats that House Black's members had commandeered. The looks on everyone's faces were nearly too much. He thanked his many years of practice at keeping a straight face when being cornered for pranks by McGonagall.

Even Dumbledore looked pole-axed.

But no, Sirius wasn't about to leave it as is. He wanted to make an _impression_. So before anyone could actually gather the balls to actually voice their disbelief at a level above stupefied whispers, he pulled out his wand, already shining at the tip…

And stabbed himself in the left palm.

Dead silence.

Smiling languidly, Sirius brushed his bleeding palm against the air in front of him, like a screen, and the blood spread as if he'd just wiped his hand over a pane of glass. And before anyone could screech about blood magic and how illegal or dangerous it was (thus setting themselves up for being made a fool of, since blood rituals were still very much used in various occasions, albeit not for something like this), the blood started shifting, as though being manipulated with a brush, stroke by stroke. Forming itself, _shaping_.

Changing color. Glimmering.

So _that_ was what Sirius and Regulus had kept dodging questions about.

The crests of Potter and Black hovered in the air in front of Sirius, one a heraldry of fire and the other made of steel, with lightning crackling all over and through it. Ignoring the room entirely, the wizard bowed grandly to the House of Potter. The fire flared, surrendered shape and streaked around him before twisting upwards and dispersing, leaving a warm breeze behind, then even that was gone.

The man stood tall, then, and speared the remaining crest with his wand tip. "I, Sirius Orion Black, son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, hereby claim all rights and responsibilities entailed in the role of Paterfamilias." The Heraldry shimmered as his clear baritone entranced the public. "So decreed, so witnessed." The shield misted, forming the shape of a thunderbird that spread its wings wide, only to engulf Sirius in its wings completely, before dispersing with a thundering roar.

Let Magical Britain try and contest _that_ after the WWN transmitted it all over the world. The Prophet was going to have a field week after this too, for that matter, Remus thought with glee he didn't even try to conceal.

Basking in the gaping maws of the respectable witches in wizards sharing the same room as him, Sirius bent his knees, then shot up, but didn't make the jump. Instead, thunder struck upward, erasing all evidence that the man had ever been there…

… for all of one instant before a second bolt came, descended this time, depositing Sirius Orion Black right in front of his high chair, up in the highest row, making the two men on either side of him yelp and shriek in their seats, Remus wasn't sure who did which.

Sirius allowed his wand to retreat into its holster, turned around and regally settled himself in his chair with an air that made it seem as though his act of overpowering the anti-transolcation wards was nothing special.

Everyone was staring at Sirius, and Dumbledore finally gathered himself. "… _How_?"

Whether he was asking about him being the Lord or the apparition, Remus couldn't tell, but he became sure the answer would have been the same when Sirius grinned unrepentingly and said. "Magic, obviously."

"-. .-"

-August 20, 1988-

The fireplace flared green, allowing a certain werewolf to step into the main sitting room of a certain penthouse belonging to a certain wizard. Not one second later, Sirius walked out of the fire as well, lazily brushing off remnants of soot. By the look on his face, Lord Black was annoyed. Remus could understand why. His friend clearly wished he could have just blasted his way via thundering teleportation, or whatever his completely _broken_ translocation skill was called that week. But Regulus had flatly told him that if he short-circuited the wiring in his house he'd better be ready to wake up covered in honey and feathers.

For a month.

Sirius would have called his bluff if his brother had not, in fact, also possessed an ability to get into any place at any time.

Regulus Black had actually shared his secret of ward-bypassing apparition, but it turned out that no one could emulate it because Regulus somehow managed to think two thoughts at once when he did it. As far as Remus knew, only James Potter would have managed to do the same, since he'd managed to somehow split his mind in two distinct but perfectly cooperative halves through Occlumency, even before he entered school. It was what allowed him to always "hear" everything, even while unconscious, and perfectly remember it, thus enabling him to get straight 'O's' in History of Magic despite always sleeping through the class.

It had been hard to come to terms with the fact that if Wormtail had delayed his betrayal by even one week, Regulus might have shared the trick with James upon their weekend meeting. But Sirius had been right when he said that James would not have used it and left Lily and Harry behind, since it relied on messing up a side-apparition, which wasn't healthy for the passengers.

Although knowing James, he'd have probably managed to try it with the snake bastard himself. It would have been glorious, to win by splinching the Dark Lord a new behind.

In the end, Sirius came up with an alternative, but he didn't share the secret with anyone. Remus honestly couldn't hold it against him.

"Okay," Sirius said, bringing Remus out of his recollections. "I'll check this floor. You go upstairs."

Right. If no one was coming to greet them, it meant Harry and Regulus were busy somewhere else in the penthouse.

Remus had been let in on the secret of Sirius being an Unspeakable (and hadn't _that_ been an astonishing revelation, _another_ one) and the werewolf now wondered how long Sirius would last before he snapped at Croaker and told him to stop using the Death Chamber Incident as an excuse to not give him the time turner he should own in order to carry out his duties.

As it was, being an Unspeakable actually cut into Sirius' own time now and kept him away from Harry on the days when he actually got called in for something or other, usually combat training for others in the department (the easy victory of Sirius and Regulus over so many Unspeakables at the same time was still a sore spot).

The 2-month time turner had been locked up somewhere only Sirius knew about. They'd decided to leave it be for a while, because using it more would be logistically challenged (they didn't have many other houses to live the same time over in) and made them rather paranoid that it would come to bite them in the behind somehow.

By now, Remus had climbed the stairs to the second floor. He still marveled at the windows. There were barely any walls, most of them were thick, reinforced glass that Regulus (and later Pollux) had enchanted the living stuffing out of. The werewolf spent a few moments admiring the twilight overlooking the town they were in. The panoramic view from that height was stunning.

Shaking himself, Remus internally prayed Sirius would not make the mistake of trying to get into Regulus' workshop without permission again, because the alarm was so loud and sharp that it _hurt_ his sensitive hearing.

Speaking of hearing, the man actually could hear voices from the balcony, which meant the door was open (since it was sound-proof). Walking normally (which was still quite silent for him), he strained his ears to make out the talk. Once he could understand, he found himself slowing down, until he stopped in the doorway and listened to the discussion about concepts he couldn't even begin to find a context for.

"So basically," Harry frowned, stirring his melting ice cream with a small spoon. "Because the Astral plane is full of emotional muck, the signal from our ins… in-sub-stan-tial…?"

"Yes."

"Right, _insubstantial_ bodies don't reach our _physical_ one properly, so instead of _knowing_ stuff we only get intuition."

Regulus hummed. "To a point. Most people _have_ to live normal lives to balance their karma, but you are, essentially, correct. Ideally, the crystal cord, the cord connecting us to the higher plane of identity, would fully control and nourish our soul and physical body. The brain and seven-vortex axis –I'll have to explain that some other time- would only be used as an antenna, so to speak. Unfortunately, the crystal cord has to travel down, wavelength-wise, from the ethereal plane of identity through the mental, or psychic plane if you will, and then astral planes." Remus wondered why Regulus was explaining all this, seeing as how Harry was probably going to forget most of it. Then again, it wasn't like he was any less curious than Harry seemed to be. "Sadly, the astral plane, or the plane of emotion, is as you said, clogged with the emotional waste of billions of people. Thick like tar in some places, so the crystal cord is a bit strangled, for lack of a better term, and our _spirit_ has to use almost all the cord's, er, internal _space_ to keep us alive, by managing our bodily functions. Digestion, sight, hearing, calls of nature, etc.

"Ideally, there would be a constant exchange, we would upload our worthwhile experiences through the same cord, into our _identity_ in the ethereal plane. Likewise, we would have access to all our past-life memories, and whatever experience we acquired in the higher planes, if any. But because there's not much chance for that while we're awake, we have to settle for storing memories in our brain instead, and leave the bulk of the exchange for the time we're asleep. That's why dreams happen, and why we need to sleep at all. It's also why we don't remember most dreams, or have access to anything beyond our lives here, because the _spirit_ could never really _download_ enough of its _self_ in the brain for us to make sense of or use towards whatever goals we have in life. The brain is lauded for its information storing capacity, but truth is that compared to our spirit it's tiny. So we usually have to make do with _intuition_, the gut instinct that tells us what we should do or need to be doing. The other half of the constant _exchange_ takes the form of _ideas_."

Well… that was an odd lecture that had come out completely out of nowhere. Or maybe not. Those two looked like they'd been out there for a while.

"… Sounds really complicated," Harry admitted sheepishly. "But… I think I get it."

"Good." Regulus eyed Harry rather intensely. "On that note, I believe your father was among the few who could maintain a stronger connection and did, in fact, have a fire spirit bound to him too."

Harry's face lit up. It was becoming more frequent these days. "A fire spirit? I thought you said he'd been one?"

Remus blinked. Say _what_?

"No, I said I believe he was an _elemental_. That he was of fire is just my assumption. It ties into our discussion about animagi being embodied elemental spirits that used animals for… observation purposes prior to becoming human… and still have the 'memory' of being such things. So they 'remember' what it was like to experience physical reality in that form."

Remus blinked again. Then another time. He almost blurted his disbelief… but then remembered that the way James' fire sometimes became a lion and how it behaved like a living creature. It was almost _sentient_.

Remus stayed in the doorway, unnoticed by Harry. He was fairly certain Regulus knew he was there. It was _his_ ludicrously warded home after all. The werewolf could never completely dismiss his awe at how inquisitive and eager to learn Harry was, in spite of his earlier life. They didn't even have to plan lessons or any sort of schedule. They'd discovered that it worked better if they just answered Harry's questions and subtly touched on other subjects enough to keep his curiosity high while making it impossible for boredom to set in.

Pollux was a master of that actually. It was a benign form of manipulation, one that he'd admitted to. "And when he finally sees it for what it is, I'll consider my job done." Apparently, the old wizard wanted to ensure Harry grew up _clever_, not just well read and learned.

"Remus!" Harry called out, finally seeing him in the balcony door. The werewolf smiled. How _long_ it had taken for the boy to go from Mister Lupin to his first name. He only wished Harry would call him Mooney at some point, but it was unlikely. The kid seemed to dislike nicknames on principle, and it wasn't even something he could blame on Regulus or, more likely, Pollux, because that had been one of Harry's small quirks since even before he left those animals that would probably merit a whole section to themselves on the list of dark creatures.

Remus deliberately steered his thoughts away from that train of thought. That way lay madness.

"I take it you finally noticed that he exists?" Regulus asked dryly, getting up from his chair. Harry did the same. "Leave it," the master of the house said when Harry made to pick up the tray with his ice cream cup. "I'll have Kreacher clean up later."

"Okay."

"Greetings, kind sirs," Remus drawled, sketching a bow. "I hope this eve finds you well."

"Is Sirius here too?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Yes, he's-"

-Harry dashed past him and disappeared down the glass-framed hallway-

"… downstairs." Clearly, the boy wizard was well past the point where he bothered with manners outside formal functions.

"Just don't run down the stairs!" Regulus called after him.

Remus turned to look at him as they both walked into the house at a steadier pace. "Has he done it again?"

"Thankfully no," Regulus said with a long-suffering air. "But it's not like that one time was all that long ago."

'That one time' was when Harry was walking backwards in front of Sirius and got excited about something and jumped back, only to reach past the edge of the uppermost step and take a tumble. Fortunately, he'd only hit the stairs once before the portkey on his clothing kicked in and whisked him to the safety of his bed. He hadn't broken anything but he did have a big bruise on his back and a healthy fear of stairs and tall places for a couple of weeks after that.

He wasn't afraid to take a leap when he was still a few steps away from the bottom though, not if it meant he got to hug Sirius around the waist.

Not for the first time, Remus had to wonder _why_ Sirius felt threatened and jealous of Pollux and his gifts when Harry acted the way he did just at the mention of his godfather's name.

"-. .-"

-August 12, 1988-

It had started with something totally innocuous. Insofar as Pollux Black's behavior could be innocuous anyway.

It was on one of the days when the old wizard came over to have dinner with the three living in Grimmauld place (Sirius, Regulus and Harry) and Remus who had an open invitation he was more than glad to capitalize on whenever he felt like it. He was between jobs after moving back into Britain, and he wanted to last for as long as possible before he inevitably caved to Sirius' demands to move in Grimmauld Place and start researching spells and enchantments for him.

Remus suspected his old friend and Pollux were plotting on roping him into the job of research assistant that would eventually carry on the war hero's work after the older man died, however many years away it was. He had no proof though.

It could also have still been Sirius' ongoing efforts to get Harry and Remus to actually befriend each other. Remus was still "Mr. Lupin" to him and their conversations were stilted and awkward. Primarily because the werewolf was hard-pressed to find a role he could actually play in Harry's life, beyond that of casual acquaintance. Sirius was the parent substitute, Regulus had the awesome uncle post, Marius was the grandparent everyone looked up to, Pollux was the eccentric old guy, even Arcturus was the aloof distant relation whenever he not-so-reluctantly let himself be dragged over to Grimmauld Place by his remaining cousin.

It had gotten a bit easier after a bit of storytelling about the Marauder school years, but not by much. So Remus felt rather stand-offish in most settings. And stuck.

And then it all changed, and something innocuous became something life-altering.

They were half-way through the second course when Pollux snapped his fingers and cried out. "That's it!" And produced a self-inking quill out of nowhere… only to proceed to start writing runes on a napkin and seemingly ignore everyone else.

And the food. That too.

Now that he was healthy again, Pollux was _always_ researching some new gizmo, ward or enchantment. And he seemed to get the best ideas at the strangest times. Regulus had explained it once, saying that great ideas come easiest after you've exhausted your intellect thinking of a problem and then relaxed for a while. Apparently, Pollux was most relaxed during meals and youngster-watching (where youngster meant everyone at least 10 years younger than him, so basically everyone that he interacted with).

Hearing him produce shouts of realization like a mad scientist became normal one week after the final time jump elapsed.

Back to the present, they were still using a round table for small family meals, and it so happened that this time Harry was between Sirius and Pollux himself, so he had a clear view of what his great uncle was writing down. Remus could swear that the kid looked fascinated and wondered how long his interest would last. Runes weren't the easiest subject to get into even for third years, unless they had a leaning towards it, and languages in general.

As it turned out, Harry was _very _fascinated indeed. And when he started asking questions and Pollux, still drawing the rune pentagon (he was on the third napkin-turned-puzzle-piece) actually _answered_ instead of failing to hear as usual, Remus got suspicious.

"They're beautiful," Harry murmured at one point, staring at the symbols.

Lupin's suspicions grew later when Pollux began to animatedly answer a frankly clumsily-worded question on the boy's part but also got up from the table, gathered up the napkins and proceeded to leave the room, still talking, thus prompting Harry to forget all about his own meal and follow, just to make sure he didn't miss anything of the explanation.

One thing led to another, and sometime later Pollux was arranging the napkins in a pentagon on the ground in the yellow room (one of the many bedrooms on the upper floors) with Harry standing near the door, with Remus also nearby, and the other two nowhere in the vicinity for some reason.

"Listen up, boy" Pollux suddenly said, making Harry straighten even though he didn't look in the kid's direction. "Magic isn't a miracle." He adjusted the position of one of the napkin rune circle parts from where he knelt on the floor. "Magic is not sentient either, and not exactly alive. And the reason for that it's because it was _created_ by man."

Remus blinked. Then blinked again.

The old wizard stood and walked over to Harry. "See, this is something that few people actually believe or know about anymore. Magic is an entity on the psychic plane." He got on one knee in front of the boy wizard. "Regulus would probably liken it to a piece of software, with the physical world and _us_ as the hardware. But we're also the users. You, though, just need to know that it's everywhere and connected to everything. Like a blanket of fog covering the Earth." He pulled out his wand and performed a nonverbal summoning charm. "And our wands are like access keys that let us send commands, which Magic carries out for us."

"This is something I've never heard before," Remus mused openly, and dubiously.

"It's mostly lost knowledge," Pollus said, briefly looking from Harry to Remus as he stood. "But us old families have it, though not many of us still believe it. Sirius knows this as well, only unlike Arcturus or our forebears he didn't choose to spend ages denying it." A stack of scrolls came flying through the door, the ones he'd summoned earlier. "He's very receptive to these truths actually, including that Family Magic, no matter what spoken commands we use, and whether or not the word 'magic' figures into them, is not really magic at all."

Harry blinked in astonishment.

And Remus did the same. "What can you mean by that?"

"I mean that Family Magic is, in truth, just reality manipulation carried out by the ascended hierarch of our House. The sort of power all House Heads should strive to achieve during their life." Pollux went over to a table and set the scrolls down on it, smiling wryly at the werewolf. "No wandless magic is _truly_ magic. I doubt Regulus and Sirius realize just how remarkable they are for the wandless feats they can achieve. Wandless 'magic' is when you yourself impose your will upon reality to cause an effect, instead of asking Magic to do it for you. Learning to do this is actually the whole reason Magic was created in the first place. What we use it for… well, admittedly we've come up with quite a few useful things, complex methods to ensure recurring, constant effects, but we're actually dependent on magic instead of it being a mere tool."

"You're rambling," Remus deadpanned. He'd learned long ago that the old man needed to be told that. Pollux had actually told them to cut him off when he got too wordy.

"Right," the white-haired one said sheepishly. "Basically, Magic is an entity, a remnant really, of Atlantis." Well, that was a shock. "It was conceived, _made_ by those eligible for Ascension, so that people could use a focus and words to _observe_ an effect, _feel_ it, _know it_, in order to duplicate it through simple understanding of the process and force of will. Ultimately, it was a means to an end, the end being mastery over the physical reality."

Well, it sounded really grand put that way.

Pollux focused on an enraptured Harry again. "These ancient runes, they're what's left of the written language of the now gone Atlantis. Norse runes, Egyptian hieroglyphs, they're just off-shots, just like incantations are remnants or offshoots of the spoken Atlantean tongue. Magic is self-updating, to an extent, so it can understand some of their functions and combinations, based on the _concepts_ and general consensus that history and human opinion form in the mental, or psychic, plane of the world. Concepts can be assimilated by Magic. But ultimately, only knowing the ancient language of Atlantis can you perform magical feats to the greatest possible extent."

Remus was amazed at how attentive Harry was, even as he wondered how come Sirius and Regulus weren't making an appearance. The kid had even walked to a chair and sat down to listen.

"This," Pollux waved his hand over his improvised napkin rune construct parts. "Is pretty advanced, and I'm not going to explain anything now that I'm working, and I won't claim I'd be a good or patient teacher." He took a scroll, walked to the middle of the room and began to write on it after setting it on the floor. "But I'm guessing you're going to say you don't care and intend to keep watching and asking questions and taking whatever I have to offer and figuring it out yourself anyway, right?"

Harry took his turn to look embarrassed. "I'll read on it! And I promise I'll stay out of the way!" He hastened to reassure him.

"Denied." Pollux deadpanned. "I tend to browbeat anyone nearby into making themselves useful –get me that scroll and quill will you?- so unless you want to be too busy and exhausted to learn, you'll stay away." Harry had, of course, delivered the requested materials as instructed, making Pollux blink. "Oh folly! I'm already doing it, see? No offense but I doubt Sirius would take well to the idea of me making you work for me. Child labor and all."

"But-"

"No buts." Pollux cut him off, sternly looking him in the eye from where he was still –strategically, Remus suspected- kneeling on the ground. "This can be either boring and exhausting or dangerous. Even if you're serious this moment, I'm not sure you will be two days from now-" he raised a hand to prevent protests "-and either way you need a foundation before you could possibly do anything but get in the way and, Merlin forbid, hurt. So unless Remus there would be willing to actually put his teaching expertise to work and instruct you in this, you'll have to wait until Hogwarts like everyone else."

And when Harry turned big, green, pleading eyes on him, Remus mused in fascination that those wire-rimmed glasses should be able to at least marginally lessen the effect.

And then it hit him, what all of this was. Why Sirius didn't tell Harry to stay behind at the table and finish his food. Why neither Sirius nor Regulus told the boy to not bother Pollux. Why neither of those two was _here_ to be offered as teachers instead of him. Why this wasn't the first time Pollux started to sketch runes within Harry's vicinity.

They'd conspired to get Harry interested in the subject, and magic in general, as a way to give Remus a role and finally allow him and Harry to bond over something.

Feeling overwhelmed but somehow not showing his gratitude openly, he replied in as level a voice as he could manage. "This is third year material and while I'm sure we'll work a light schedule you'll still need to study hard. And we might have to go through some of the other subjects too. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Yes!" And then Harry, wonderful, full-of-surprises Harry, glomped him.

Remus forced himself not to cry.

It was Pollux that spared him from having to speak up again in what would surely have been a thicker voice than normal. "Don't expect to learn everything he has to teach any time soon though, kid." The older wizard acted as though he was totally focused on his runework. "You've got a long way to go, and I won't accept anything less than the best for you." Harry pulled back and looked away, blushing. "Which means Remus will be working with me to get up to speed on what Hogwarts didn't teach him."

Remus stared, feeling oddly betrayed, and the smug glint in the older man's brief glance didn't make him feel any less manipulated.

He'd just been corralled into accepting the "research post" and becoming Pollux's assistant (apprentice?) like Sirius and the old man had been not so subtly trying to convince him to do for over a month.

Remus sighed in resigned bemusement.

Those thoughtful but oh so manipulative _bastards_.

"-. .-"

-August 1, 1988-

Remus John Lupin stared at the door. Stupidly, he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

After a while, he glanced at the ramrod straight, stiff posture of one Regulus Arcturus Black, who was standing on the other side of the room, blank gaze fixed on the view of the night outside the window.

It only made the werewolf stare back at the door, in equal parts annoyed and astonished by how brusquely Sirius had pushed them in the same room and informed them that they would "deal with their differences _now_ or else!" before locking them in. The werewolf fleetingly considered trying to force his way out, but he dismissed the thought. The angry _red_ shimmer that had passed over the door upon closing implied rather unfortunate consequences if the attempt was to be made.

Clearly, Sirius expected he and his brother to make peace in the one hour left before the time jump was to be accomplished. Somehow.

With a defeated sigh, the slightly older wizard turned to behold the room's other occupant. Inwardly, he was actually surprised the man was still there. Unlike himself, Regulus Black possessed an easy means of escaping the situation. Then again Sirius knew this as well, and the mere fact that Regulus had _not_ disapparated as soon as the door was shut made it clear he was willing to give it a shot, if only for the sake of Sirius and a certain 8-year-old.

So ultimately the only one whose willingness to move past things, the one who was being _tested_, was him, Remus realized.

Or maybe he was just overthinking things and this really was just Sirius being Sirius.

Either way, it changed little.

As if detecting his internal decision to move things along, Regulus Black turned to behold him. He had his full, famous black attire on, not a crease or hair out of place. A noble countenance in a total contrast to his own, semi-shabby robes. Remus thought back to the war and how brief the Black Phantom's appearances always seemed to be. But now he realized that Regulus Black really must have devoted most of his time towards being a third front all on his own. There was no other way to explain why he only seemed comfortable in that particular disguise, why he always seemed to wear a variation of it. No other explanation besides the idea that it was not all a disguise anymore.

As Slytherin as the wizard was, there were certain things that even the best masks couldn't hide.

Remus thought back to Regulus Black's sudden visit to his temporary home in America and confirmed his internal conclusion, the one he'd reached after the trial that had occurred not two days before. After finding it impossible that the one who'd done all that in the memories of the past could possibly have delivered words so cruel and brutal just for the hell of it.

Oh, Remus was sure the underlying anger and disappointment in that cruel speech had been heartfelt, at least on some level, but the delivery… and the fact that the visit happened at _all_.

He knew what to say. "Back in fifth year, after Snape tried to barge in on me during the full moon, James didn't speak to Sirius for two weeks straight."

Regulus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but otherwise did not react.

"At least, he didn't speak to him for that long after he gave him a tongue-lashing worse than any McGonagall had ever given us. He didn't mince words. After we finally escaped from the Headmaster's office, he grabbed Sirius by an arm, sat him on the nearest bed in our dorm and spent half an hour flatly laying everything down, about how stupid he'd been, how badly it could have ended, that Sirius would not have just gotten Snape killed but invited execution on me for it –_that_ was the part that hit your brother hardest- and how it didn't _matter_ that Snape had probably planned for it all to end up with us in trouble because _Sirius should have known better and seen through it_."

Still no verbal answer. Black just inclined his head, silently conveying that he should continue.

Remus considered the possibility that Regulus already knew what he was getting at. "In the following days, after I recovered from the transformation, I gave Sirius the cold shoulder as well, but not for as long. My anger and disappointment gave way to the bafflement that _James_ was angrier with Sirius than I was, and didn't seem inclined to _forgive him_ despite their history of never staying mad at each other for more than a day. After a week of that, I cornered him alone in an empty classroom and demanded to know what he was doing, not because I'd forgiven Sirius myself but because their continued enmity just _didn't make any sense_. You know what he told me?"

"…"

"He said that part of it was that Sirius had done what a _Slytherin_ would have done, but what was worse was that he'd set up Snape for some serious _physical_ consequences, possibly even a brutal death. It was what _Snape_ would have done. It _was_ what Snape had done, trying to set me up for expulsion or worse, and I told James so. But James said what Sirius had done was worse, potentially ending with my execution. But he also said that, ultimately, his reason for his dismissive treatment of Sirius was different.

"James told me that it was killing him, to forcefully make the anger towards him fester, even temporarily, but he didn't think Sirius would actually take anything of what happened to heart if there weren't some actual consequences to live through, especially after Dumbledore had essentially taken their side. Because Sirius'… upbringing… had left him with some seriously skewed morals.

"So James willingly put himself through the guilt of making Sirius feel miserable, just to make sure Sirius _himself_ felt guilt over what happened. Because if he did, next time he wouldn't so easily falter, and so he wouldn't actually cause someone's death and have to grieve a fallen friend, to wallow in guilt and self-loathing for real.

"Ultimately, they made up and, after a while, James slipped and actually explained the same things to Sirius himself. He was too much of a Gryffindor to _not_ spill the beans eventually." Remus paused and regarded the young, formidable wizard in front of him. "But that's not something anyone could ever say about _you_, is it?"

Regulus Black crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Personally, I feel the Hogwarts Houses do nothing but segregate us far too young and force our development according to the unwritten rules of four severely restricted and psychologically harmful archetypes."

Remus was silent, uncertain if he should go ahead and ask, but eventually, he took the leap. He, too, was a result of that psychological segregation, a _Gryffindor._ "Do you think you managed to undo the damage that upbringing did to yourself."

"No."

Remus blinked, wondering if perhaps Regulus was being too harsh on himself. That fearless, instant admission was such a _Gryffindor_ thing to say. Then again, maybe it was part of some other plan, a word play that had yet to start. "Do you think you ever will?"

"Doubtful, but possible."

"So you're trying your best to do it, but haven't done it yet," Remus asserted. "Which means my assumption of the real nature of your visit is likely accurate. You know what I mean, don't you?"

Black gazed at him, but Remus privately felt the younger man actually had to put some effort into keeping his face impassive. "I have suspicions, but they are reliant on a rather high likelihood that you aren't _all_ Gryffindor anymore yourself."

Lupin gave a weak smile. "Those cruel, heart-shattering words you hurled at me… They hurt, greatly, but not just because they were actually said. But because many are probably exactly what _James_ would have said to me if he'd suddenly come back from the dead and learned how utterly I'd failed his son and brother." Regulus Black didn't even twitch at the way he described the relationship between his two friends. "And while I'm not sure how much you care about Harry, I know enough to see you love Sirius as much as James did."

Silence. It wasn't strained, and it wasn't companionable either. It was just silence.

Remus thought it was unnerving, how quiet the other man could be. "What you did to me was basically what James did to Sirius, all that long ago, wasn't it."

"Some," Regulus admitted. "I am not exaggerating that it was among the worst experiences of my life. The reasons for me feeling that way might not coincide with the ones _you_ suspect, however."

Which meant that Regulus probably felt bad afterwards, but not because of guilt. At least, not guilt over having made him, Remus, feel horrible, but the one stemming from the fact that he'd deliberately set off to emotionally bludgeon his brother's remaining best friend. Maybe Black had even felt sick at the thought that his brother's remaining best friend was a traitor twice over. Even Remus admitted to himself that a life that left someone in such a situation was lamentable.

"I'm not glad you did it. It made me feel like the worst scum of the Earth, and the feeling only got worse once the trial ended. But I understand _why_ you did it."

"I will not apologize." Black said curtly, his face narrow-eyed and slightly guarded. "Perhaps in the future, if I am proven wrong about your character. Admittedly, some of this might be just out of petty pride, but the thing about pride is that you seldom notice it before others bring it to your attention."

Which was a wordless challenge to see if Remus felt he was in any position to point it out. He wasn't. Sirius might disagree, but he wasn't there to say so. "I suppose that's true." A reply that was at once noncommittal and challenging. A reply that opened the door for another topic he wasn't sure he'd be able to broach. "And I suppose the same can be said about undeserved guilt and shame."

Regulus Black blinked. Then blinked again. He was as rattled as Remus had ever seen him. "That was an obvious lead-in, but I am unsure towards _what_."

Remus had spent hours upon hours wondering how to broach this topic, but he decided to just get it out at this point, so he just blurted "Sirius thinks it was for the best that he got sent to Azkaban."

Astonishment and disbelief shattered Regulus Black's façade so suddenly that it would have been funny if the topic wasn't so wretched. "What did you say?"

Remus winced and looked at the door, fearing Sirius would just appear out of nowhere and tell him to shut it. Glad he was wrong, the werewolf beheld the wizard again. "I admit to… voicing my misgivings in Sirius' presence about how you refused to go to Dumbledore with your findings, all these years." Remus paused, waiting for an explosion that never came. Then again, Regulus Black probably expected him to throw it in his face as he'd done to him with Harry and Sirius' hellish lives, all those weeks ago. So, that he _wasn't_ doing it must have actually surprised him enough to allow him to finish. "And he said that whatever your reasons were, whether just distrust of Dumbledore or whatever else, he thinks it was _for the best_ that you never did."

The younger wizard wasn't even trying to hide his confusion. "Why… how on _Earth_ could he say such a thing? To think… spending time in _Azkaban_ of all places was a good thing? Does he think the so-called revelations the Dementors forced on him were worth the damage to everything else?" Remus noticed the reluctance to imply anything about Sirius' sanity. He could relate. "Merlin's beard…" The younger wizard pressed held onto the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"That was part of it," Remus confirmed, hesitantly. "But the main reason. Well, he said that he's glad about how things turned out _now_. Because if he'd received proper treatment back then, he's sure Dumbledore would have just persuaded him to let him do what he thought was best, through whatever means, and Harry would _still_ have ended up with Vernon and Petunia. And even if he got visiting rights he didn't think things would have turned out in any good way. He didn't exactly explain himself well. Or maybe I was just too shocked by what he was saying to listen properly-"

"As if that could have happened!" Regulus Black exploded, raising his voice. It was so surreal, to see that calm shattered, that Remus clammed up. "As if I'd have just let him go ahead and throw away his happiness, his life like that! At the whim of a deluded old man!"

"I told him as much," Remus spoke up, surprising the other one into silence. "But it's… well, it's not that he didn't expect himself to trust you back then. Grief… makes us do stupid things. And well, ultimately I don't think that's the problem. Sirius… I don't think the _he_ of _now_ trusts the _himself_ of back then to have done the right thing in regards to all this, even _with_ your influence. And I think he's _glad_ all this made it clear how far from perfect Dumbledore is, even though he hates that Harry had to suffer because of it."

Regulus looked at him long and hard. "Well… I suppose the time for my apology might come sooner than I had expected."

Silence fell again, and this time it was of a different sort. The type that allies fostered when both are trying to come up with part of a solution to a difficult dilemma.

Finally, Regulus Black huffed and set his face into a frown. "Well. I suppose our next order of business is to make him understand how stupid he's being. Honestly, does he think I would have let things lie and _not_ made sure he saw Dumbledore and everything else for what it was?"

Remus couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. Part of that was exactly how he felt himself, but the second half… that certainty that he was_ right_, that almost _arrogant_ self-assurance was such a… such a…

"Well, I'm glad _one_ of us is amused," Black deadpanned.

Remus opened his mouth, only to start laughing silly again. Forcing his lungs under control, he heaved a deep breath. "Sorry… It's just… That was such a _James Potter_ thing to say."

Regulus Black's eyebrow twitched.


End file.
